


Balancing Act

by Mhalachai



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:06:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhalachai/pseuds/Mhalachai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being "asked" to change schools, 16-year-old Jack O'Neill moves to St. Louis. His new school looks as if it might be better than the last; the teachers seem halfway decent. And yet, there's something sort of odd about his new science teacher, Richard Zeeman...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After Season 7 "Fragile Balance" for SG1 (the mini-Jack episode) and after Incubus Dreams for Anita Blake.

Jack tried the combination again. Nothing. The locker wouldn't open. Slamming his palm against the metal didn't work, either.

"For crying out loud," he muttered, leaning his shoulder against the wall and wishing he didn't have to _be_ here. Math class had been bad enough. A whole pack of strange kids, being the new guy to the school midway through November, in St. Louis nonetheless. Add to that a math teacher who seemed to be freaked out by the idea that Jack had been kicked out of his last school for fighting, and it was just a great day.

Not "Anubis is going to end the world" great, but close.

The bell rang, and the straggling kids in the halls began to run. Jack looked down at his new schedule, half-tempted to just bail on this whole school thing. Go out, get a job somewhere sweeping floors.

Although, if he did that, then he'd _really_ never understand what Carter was talking about.

"Hi ho, to science class I go," Jack said under his breath as he hiked his overburdened backpack up higher on his shoulder, and set off for class.

* * *

"Jack O'Neill?"

Jack winced, almost out the door after class. _I'd have made it, too, if it wasn't for those meddling kids._ "Sir?" he said warily, turning back to the teacher.

The man, as tall as Teal'c and almost as big, leaned on the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest, and smiled. "Call me Mr. Zeeman," he said.

Jack just stared. Well, glared, actually.

"We all got the memo about you, at the teacher's meeting," Zeeman continued. "About how you were kicked out of your old school for... fighting, was it?"

Actually, it had more to do with trying to avoid a fight, but try telling a senior jock you didn't want to hurt him. Things had gone badly, especially after the jock's lawyer father had gotten involved. Jack hadn't wanted to bother anyone in the Air Force (or, rather, didn't want anyone to tell his team-- no, damn it, his clone's team, SG-1), so he packed himself up and moved to St. Louis.

Zeeman took in Jack's rather sullen silence and soldiered on. "We also know that you're on your own, legally emancipated," he said in a tone just soft enough that Jack would cheerfully have choked him.

"Is this going to turn into some kind of Afternoon Special intervention?" Jack demanded. "I've got a bus to catch."

Zeeman raised his eyebrows, and Jack couldn't shake the feeling that this guy found him amusing. _God, this whole high school thing keeps getting worse and worse._ "I just wanted to tell you that if you have any questions about this class, or the school, you can ask at any time," Zeeman said smoothly.

"Right," Jack snarked, already on his way out the door. _Just my luck, I get stuck with the guy who wants to reach out and help a student._

The halls had emptied. Jack passed rows of beat-up lockers, a sports banner, some posters suffering from too much enthusiasm and not enough proofreading, all the junk that made up an American high school. _Just the place I don't want to be._

He wanted to be an adult again. He wanted to be with Carter and Daniel and Teal'c and everyone at the SGC, saving the galaxy. Hell, he'd even settle for facing off against the System Lords, anything besides sitting through classes with kids old enough to be _his_ kids. Most of these kids would have been born around the same time as Charlie.

Jack stopped suddenly. No, he wasn't going to do this. He'd made a decision a very long time ago. At least, the other O'Neill had, and Jack didn't see why he should change it now. The rule was simple: he didn't think about Charlie, or Sara, during business hours. He changed it to school hours, then to _ever_ , because otherwise, spending thirty hours a week with children whose fathers _hadn't_ been careless with their guns and whose fathers _hadn't_ been too relieved to be home to think about what might happen when a curious boy--

Taking two quick steps to the grimy windows framing the wall, Jack pressed his hands hard against the wooden frame, trying to stop _thinking_. He might have been able to escape the older Jack O'Neill's bum knee and aging joints, but the worst of what that Jack, and this one had seen was stuck forever in his brain.

 _I look sixteen, and I feel like an old man. A useless old man at that._

Wishing for the millionth time he could do something _useful_ , instead of having to sit through classes more boring than one of Carter's briefing room lectures, Jack pushed off the wall, turned around, and almost jumped out of his skin.

Mr. Zeeman was standing not three feet away, looking at Jack curiously. _How the hell did he sneak up on me?_ Jack thought furiously. _No matter what anyone may say, I've still got years of covert ops training, and a man who weighs two hundred and thirty pounds, almost all of it solid muscle, should not be able to sneak up on me over this hard floor in dress shoes!_

"Everything okay?" Zeeman asked, shifting his briefcase from one hand to another. Even that made a little bit of noise.

"Yeah, things are fine," Jack said, pretending to look at the floor, while giving Zeeman a once-over. The teacher didn't carry himself like he had any military training, but there was something odd about the man, something that set Jack on edge. Jack just didn't know what.

 _Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you._

"But, uh, you were talking about problems and stuff?" Jack hurried on, hoping that Zeeman wasn't thinking he was checking him out, not like that.

Zeeman nodded.

"You know who I talk to about a broken locker?"

The corner of the teacher's lip curled up in a smirk that looked slightly... wolfish. "The custodian can help you with that."

"Right." Jack shifted his bag around on his shoulder. "Thanks."

Zeeman stared at Jack with eyes just a little too still, like the eyes of some Jaffa he'd seen in a stand-off, then headed on down the hall.

 _He's still not making any noise!_ Whatever the hell was going on, Jack was going to get to the bottom of it.


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing like a hard enforced run to make a guy ready to ditch the rest of the day of classes, Jack reflected as he toweled his hair dry. Around him, lockers were slamming and the rest of the guys were getting ready for their next class. He ignored the din to focus on the tight ache in his left calf.

 _I keep doing this,_ he thought with a grimace, tossing his towel down and stretching his calf out. _If I keep trying too hard to get my old body back, I'm going to hurt myself._

He was getting there. He'd put on muscle and was a hell of a lot faster on his feet. His teenage body had also decided to start growing, and he was inches taller than he had been a year before. His face was starting to look familiar in the mirror again.

 _And not a damned moment too soon._

A harsh word penetrated his daze. He slowly lowered his leg, looking sideways without turning his head, instantly alert.

Down one bench, one of the slower members of the class was trying to pull things out his locker, but another boy, Steven, kept pushing the locker door shut. He wasn't touching the first boy, not yet, but Jack knew where this could go.

"I need to get my clothes," the first boy said, careful not to look at Steven.

"So get them," Steven said, slapping the locker door shut again.

Quickly, Jack pulled his shirt over his head. He really hoped that what he was about to do wasn't going to start a fight, but if it did, he wanted to be fully dressed.

Jack closed his locker. Turning, he saw that while a couple of the jocks in the change room seemed to be laughing at what was happening, most of the boys were trying to ignore it. _Great._

"Knock it off," Jack said as Steven pushed the locker shut one more time.

Steven took his eyes off his target, the smile sliding from his face. "Did you say something to me?"

Jack bit back several snazzy retorts that would end in a fight. "Yeah, I told you to knock it off."

Steven stepped out into the middle of the locker room, giving him a clear path to Jack. The boy was big and bulky and probably stupid enough to actually start a fight in a room filled with hard, sharp edges. "How long you been here, two weeks? You don't know shit!"

Suddenly, Jack was exhausted. Tired of being sixteen, tired of having to deal with kids who should know better. Steven was a bully, and Jack hated bullies. One of the reasons he loathed the Goa'uld so much was that they were intergalactic bullies that used their power to hurt people weaker than them.

Maybe he shouldn't have done what he did. But the mental reminder of the Goa'uld, of all they'd done to him and his team and all the people they'd met on their journeys to other worlds, stripped Jack of the mask he usually wore, the happy goofy kid, leaving in its place the face of a very dangerous man.

Whatever Steven saw made him go pale, and he backed up into a row of lockers.

Quickly, Jack tried to put his facade back in place, and shrugged. He went back to his locker and pulled out his gym bag amid the sudden silence in the room.

Knowing he'd made a mistake, but not sure how to fix it, Jack walked out of the room.

* * *

He noticed the pointing and whispers after lunch. People stared as he walked past, then quickly looked away when he made eye contact with them.

 _What the hell is going on?_ Jack didn't think the looks were just because he'd stood up to a bully in the locker room. What else could it be? He hadn't done or said anything, so it wasn't as if he had accidentally revealed any of his military skills.

He ducked into his science class and slid into a seat at the back of the room. Zeeman was still helping a girl from the previous class with something up at the front desk. It happened every time they had class; always someone from the previous class wanting a little extra attention, always a girl.

Zeeman finished what he was saying to the girl, and she picked up her books with a shiny smile. As she turned away from the desk, she saw Jack, and her eyes suddenly went wide. She scampered from the room.

Jack slid lower in his chair.

After an excruciatingly long five minutes, class started. Zeeman walked around the room, handing out papers. "We're going to have an open-book test," the teacher said, ignoring the responding groans. "You've got thirty minutes. It's a good thing you've all done the reading, right?"

Jack looked down at his test sheet, grateful not to have to look at anyone, but really wishing he'd followed his initial impulse of ditching school after gym class.

The test sheet had one question on a page with room for a written response. _"Explain the gravitational pull of a black hole."_

Jack still had dreams sometimes, of the black hole so many years ago, and Frank Cromwell. Jack traced the words on the page with his finger, feeling an echo of the memory of the black hole's gravity pulling at his skin. _Frank would have wanted to go out saving the world,_ Jack thought bitterly, and picked up his pen.

* * *

As Jack shuffled back to his desk after handing in his test, one of the girls who always sat next to him, Sandra, gave him a tentative smile. It was the first friendly face he'd seen in hours, and he found himself smiling back.

"Hey," he said as he sat down.

"Hi," Sandra said, her voice soft beneath the noise in the classroom. "I don't suppose it's true?"

"What's true?" Jack asked, capping his pen.

"That you stared down Steven Mackerney in the locker room?"

"Yeah, I guess," Jack said.

"How about the rest of it?"

"The rest of what?"

Sandra blinked innocently at him. "He's saying that only a lycanthrope could stare him down, and that you were protecting Jim Daniels, and that the only way you'd do that was if you were playing for the other side."

Jack stared. "He said I'm a gay werewolf?" he exclaimed in a voice that was just a little too loud. Everyone turned to look at him, and he let out a soft groan. What a fucking mess!

Then the insanity of the situation hit him, and he started to chuckle. A smile spread across Sandra's face. "So it's not true?"

"No. In any way, no."

The phone on the wall rang, and Zeeman answered it. He listened for a moment before his eyes found Jack across the room. Suddenly, Jack didn't feel like laughing any more.

Zeeman hung up the phone, still looking at Jack. "They'd like to see you down in the office," he said.

Jack sat still for a moment. He hadn't laid a hand on Steven, hadn't made any kind of a threat, what the hell did they want him at the office for? Still, he picked up his books and made his way up to the front of the now-silent room.

Zeeman handed him a hall pass. Jack gave a quick, jerky nod, then walked out of the room.

The hallways were deserted. Jack walked as fast as he could, not seeing any point in delaying. _They can tell me what they want, and I can tell them to go screw themselves._

This was the part he hated second-most about being sixteen, having all the adults think they were better than him. He had a hard enough time dealing with authority in his first go-round of high school. Now, knowing the adults were just as clueless as the kids, some even more, it pissed him off.

He'd been a colonel in the U.S. Air Force. He'd led men and women into battle, saved the world a million times, had faced aliens intent on destroying humanity, and now he was being called on the carpet by a high school principal because he'd stood up to a bully.

This totally blew.

The secretary in the office showed him to the principal's office, where the principal and the vice-principal were waiting for him. "Please, Jack, sit down," the principal said. Jack plopped onto the seat, stacking his books on his lap. "Right." She linked her hands on the desk in front of her, looking very ill at ease. "We had a report of a bullying incident in a gym class this morning."

Was that was this was about? Had that other boy talked to a teacher about Steven being a prick? Good for him. "Yeah, what about it?"

The vice-principal crossed his arms over his chest. Jack had to deal with him when he registered for school, and thought he was a smarmy creep. "This school has a strict no bullying policy," he snapped.

"Good." It took a few seconds for Jack to understand what the creep meant. "Wait, you think I did something?"

"A student did make a complaint this morning," the principal said. She was unhappy about something, but Jack had no idea what.

"Was it Mackerney?" Jack demanded. "He was shoving someone's locker shut! I told him to knock it off, that's it!"

"That's not the way he tells it," the vice-principal said.

"He has also made an accusation against you that puts us in a precarious spot," the principal added.

Jack sat forward, holding his book so they wouldn't slip to the floor. "What's that?" he demanded.

"That you are a lycanthrope."

Jack waited for her to say it was a joke, but she just sat there. "For crying out loud, I'm not a werewolf, or a wererat, or a were-anything! Mackerney's being an idiot!"

"Will you take a blood test to back that up?" the vice-principal asked.

Jack's grip tightened on his books. He really didn't like this guy, and he was starting to realize why. "No, I will not."

There was a curious hint of malice in the vice-principal's face. "You will or you'll be expelled."

"Harold," the principal said coldly, but Jack had heard enough.

"I'm not taking any damned blood test! Even if I was a lycanthrope, which I'm so not, it's not illegal! You can't discriminate against someone with a disease, it's unconstitutional!"

"It's a danger to the students!" the vice-principal snapped, pushing off the wall and glaring down at Jack in an intimidating fashion. Well, Jack had stood up to people a hell of a lot scarier than this jerk.

"It's illegal search and seizure!" Jack snapped back. "It's not like drug tests; you can't discriminate against people you're afraid of, it's not what this country's about!"

The vice-principal's face was getting red, but Jack didn't care. He made himself sit still, even though he was so angry himself that he felt like blowing a gasket.

"Jack," the principal said, trying to get his attention. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her. "Do I have your word that you are not a danger to any person in this school, student or teacher?"

 _No yelling._ "I'm not going to hurt anyone here," Jack said, neatly skipping over her words. He could be dangerous if he wanted to be; hell, he knew three ways to kill someone with only one hand. Not that he'd ever do anything like that. Ever. "And I'm not a lycanthrope."

The principal nodded and pushed a piece of paper toward him. "Please fill out this incident report about what happened this morning in the locker room and bring it back in to my office tomorrow. You can go."

The vice-principal's jaw dropped. "Kathleen, you can't--"

"Thank you, Jack," the principal said, cutting the vice-principal off. "Go back to class."

Jack picked up his books and grabbed the paper with a little more force than necessary, and stormed out of the room. He heard raised voices behind him before the door even closed.

He had made it halfway back to science class when his mind finally caught up with the anger. He'd known that everyone seemed to think teenagers had less rights than adults, but for the vice-principal to intentionally threaten him with expulsion if he didn't submit to an illegal blood test for lycanthropy... well, that was almost the limit.

Jack shoved the paper into his pocket, slowing his steps. Back before he joined the SGC, back in his covert ops days, he'd led a team on a mission into Russia that had gone very, very wrong. Out of the six of them, two hadn't survived the werewolf attack. Another, Bill Harris, had been clawed up by the werewolf before Jack and the others had fired enough bullets into the thing to stop it.

Bill Harris had been a good guy, an excellent military man, on his way to a solid career. But after he was attacked, after he caught the werewolf virus, he'd been discharged from the military with no chance of appeal. The U.S. Military did not let animals in its ranks.

 _It's not fucking right!_ Jack thought. _I'm not going to let some prick with an overinflated ego push me into an illegal blood test because he's terrified of something different. There's no fucking way._

Slowly, he dragged himself up the stairs, and back to class.

* * *

Richard hung up the phone, deep in thought. Every time he thought he had Jack O'Neill figured out, something else fell out of the sky and flipped that all around.

This time, it was an innocent-looking test paper.

Richard had been so convinced that Jack, who hadn't been in class when they covered black holes and who didn't even crack the textbook open, would write something blustery about a topic he knew nothing about during the afternoon's test. Instead, the boy had written a tight, concise essay exactly on topic, using information that was nowhere to be found in the ancient school book.

Not sure if any of what he was reading was accurate, Richard had called a friend of his who worked at Washington University in the physics department. The man had been surprised at the information in the essay, which was remarkably similar to new research that had come out of the military's deep-space telemetry lab at Cheyenne Mountain not three months before.

There was a tap at the door, and Richard looked up as Jamil poked his head into the small back office at the Lunatic Cafe. "Sylvie's going to be late," he said without any preamble. "Her car broke down again."

"Does she need a ride?" Richard asked.

"No, she said she'd call Gwen. Do you want a burger or anything?"

Richard shook his head. "Let me know when Sylvie gets here." Jamil flashed Richard a submissive-looking grin, and vanished.

 _I wish Sylvie would let me fix her car,_ Richard thought, even though he'd already had this argument with his Geri, second in command in the wolf pack. She wouldn't let him fix her car, but she also wouldn't go to the garage near her house after the mechanics there had made derogatory comments about Gwen, Sylvie's girlfriend.

 _It's not easy being a lesbian in St. Louis, let alone a lesbian who's a werewolf._

Richard rubbed his hand over his face, feeling old. He'd heard the rumors going about the school, that Jack had stood up to Steven Mackerney after gym class, that Mackerney was saying Jack was obviously a lycanthrope because there was no way he'd stand down otherwise. Mackerney had also been calling Jack a fag for trying to help out another student.

There were times Richard wanted to go back to teaching junior high, not senior high. The insults were easier, and he could do more intervention. By the time the kids hit senior high, there was less and less Richard would do to help them.

Now Jack was walking around school with this hanging over his head, just because some bully got pissy that the new kid stood up to him.

Jack wasn't a lycanthrope, of any kind. Richard was the Ulfric, leader of the werewolf back. He could sense any kind of lycanthropy in someone. Jack smelled pure human, but...

Richard sat back in his chair. _But_. But there was something about the boy that felt off. Richard had been around teenagers for years as a teacher, and he'd never seen someone like Jack. The boy moved too carefully, holding himself in check at all times. Some of the lycanthropes Richard knew did that, always aware of their surroundings. Micah Callahan, the head of the local wereleopards, was like that.

Then there were those rare moments in class when Jack was working, looking incredibly bored, but something showed in his eyes. Something far too intelligent for a high school classroom, like he was always watching the room for any change, any danger. Just like someone else Richard knew.

Without wanting to think about why, Richard reached for the phone and dialed Anita's cell phone number.

"Blake," she answered angrily on the first ring.

"Are you busy?" Richard asked, wanting her to say yes, so he didn't have to explain why he was calling her, and also wanting her to say no. If she was busy, it would either be dangerous, making Richard worry, or it would be sexual, which would make Richard angry. Not jealous. Angry.

"No." Anita's anger thawed in that one word. "Just stupid work stuff that I need to get away from."

Richard let go of the breath he'd been holding. "Good."

The silence stretched out for an awkward pause. "Is something up?" Anita asked. "You sound kind of... strange."

Richard wanted to make an excuse and hang up, but he needed to talk to someone who would be as angry as he was. "There's this kid at school, he's having a rough time."

"Okay," Anita said slowly, obviously not knowing why he was telling her this.

Richard stared at the messy handwriting on the brilliant essay. "He's new, and after he stood up to a bully this morning, everyone's saying he's a lycanthrope."

"Oh." Anita's voice was soft now. Richard could just picture her, her lower lip poking out a bit in concentration, just like she'd always done when he'd told her about his classes before. But then, they had been engaged. He'd lost the right to tell her about his day after all that had happened, but in the good times, she still listened to him.

"Yeah, oh. He's not, he's not anything but a brilliant kid who did something right, and now everything's fall apart on him."

"What do you mean?"

"The vice-principal is taking the line that Jack needs to take a blood test to prove he's not a threat."

Before Richard could explain more, Anita started swearing. "They can't fucking do that! It's not illegal to be a lycanthrope! To tell a kid that he needs to take a blood--"

"He told them no," Richard interrupted. "Told Harold off in the principal's office, whipping out that it was unconstitutional and illegal to discriminate like that."

"Good!"

"Yeah."

Anita was quiet for a moment. "Was that why you called?"

Richard shrugged, even though he knew she couldn't see it. There was no way he would tell her that he just wanted to hear her voice. "Harold's getting all whipped up about it. If he starts digging, or finds out about me..."

"They're not going to find out you're a werewolf," Anita said firmly.

Richard never understood how someone with her life, her job, was able to be so idealistic, so optimistic. It was one of the things he loved about her, while being so monumentally infuriating. "I sure hope so," he said, struggling to keep his voice light. "Anyway, I'm not sure what I can do for Jack... or even if he needs my help."

"What about his parents, can you maybe talk to them?"

"He doesn't have parents."

A small pause. "His guardians then."

"He's on his own, Anita, legally emancipated from being a ward of the state. It's weird, but it's almost like he's fine being on his own."

Anita made a small growling noise. "That sounds like a stupid idea," she said. "Even if he is okay, what's going to happen if the school starts pressuring him?"

"I don't know. I'll keep an eye on him, but I'm really not sure what I can do."

A voice in the background on Anita's end of the phone drew Richard's attention. "Is there anything else?" Anita asked. "The clients just got here and Larry's getting antsy." More voices. "Okay, fine, not antsy, anxious. Better?" A mumbled assent.

"I'll let you go," Richard said reluctantly. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to be careful, but she'd hated him doing that when they were engaged, let alone now. "I'll talk you later."

"Good night," Anita said, and hung up.

Richard stared at the phone in his hand. Did he imagine her reluctance to end the conversation? He was never sure what to make of Anita. He hung up the phone and began to gather up his collected class work.

He put Jack's test on the top of the pile. Something was up, beyond the bullying. It would have been far easier for a sixteen-year-old boy to keep his mouth shut, to take the blood test, even if it violated his rights, and continued on at school. There had to be a reason why Jack said no.

Richard had to get to the bottom of the mystery that was Jack O'Neill.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack slid on his sunglasses to keep the glare of the watery November sun out of his eyes, then hefted his backpack up. It was lunchtime, and he had an hour free of the school. It almost made him cheerful.

Not that much was making him cheerful. The bully from gym class the previous week was still making noise about Jack being a werewolf, to the point where everyone was getting a bit sick of it. The vice-principal kept glaring at Jack whenever they passed in the halls. At least most people were avoiding him.

 _Two and half more years of this crap,_ he tried to console himself. _That's all, then I can go back to the Air Force Academy and get back on the Stargate project and--_

"Jack!"

Jack glanced up to see Sandra, his friend from science class, heading his way with an unfamiliar boy at her side. "Hey," Jack said noncommittally when the two stopped. "What's up?"

"Jack, this is Pete," Sandra said happily. "Pete, this is Jack, he's new in school."

Jack gave Pete the once-over. He was a bit taller than Jack, with several tiny metal rods pierced through various body parts. His head was half-shaved, with the remainder of his hair dyed a strange lime-green.

"Hey," Pete said laconically, holding out his hand. "So, what, get kicked out from the last place?"

The handshake was firm, which raised Jack's estimate of Pete. He looked like a punk, but then, Jack had done his own rebellion in his teen years... without the facial mutilation. "Something like that."

"Cool."

"I don't think I've seen you around?" Jack said. He was pretty sure he'd have noticed Pete in the halls.

Pete shrugged bonelessly. "I do school at home. But not for like, religious reasons, you know?" he added hastily.

"Yeah, I get it," Jack said, amused.

"Are you doing anything for lunch?" Sandra asked Jack. "We were going to get some pizza, want to come?"

Jack hesitated. He could tell from the way that Pete was hovering at Sandra's side that the boy was more than a friend. The last thing Jack wanted to do was make either Pete or Sandra think he had any interest in Sandra that way. She was a good kid, but she was just a kid.

He locked eyes with Pete, and after a moment, the other boy nodded. "Yeah, you should come," he said. "If you buy a whole pie, it's cheaper than slices."

"How can I say no?" Jack asked with a grin.

As the three of them walked down the sidewalk, Sandra chattered about her history project. Jack began to relax, just a fraction. This almost felt normal, and normal was something he didn't have much of these days.

The good mood lasted until they reached the end of the sidewalk. When Jack turned his head to check on traffic, he saw someone that made his stomach sink. "Damn it."

"What's wrong?" Sandra asked, interrupting her narrative.

Pete followed Jack's gaze. "You know that guy?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jack muttered. "Look, you two go on, I need to talk to him. See you in class this afternoon, Sandra?"

"Okay, but who is he?" Sandra wondered.

"He's an old family friend," Jack lied.

"Is anything wrong?"

A list of all the things that could possibly have gone wrong ran through Jack's head. His team might be dead, the SGC overrun with Goa'uld, something had happened to Sara. "I hope not," Jack said, already moving.

He barely registered Sandra's quiet "Good luck," as he ran across the street, darting between the parked cars on the other side, and coming face to face with Major Paul Davis, the SGC's Pentagon liaison, dressed in civilian clothes that didn't sit quite right on him..

The Major stood up straighter, not quite at attention, but close. He gave Jack a nod, then pulled off his sunglasses. "Mr. O'Neill?" The tiny hesitation in his voice told Jack that Davis was uncomfortable in seeing him, apparently a teenager, as the same person as Colonel O'Neill.

Jack shifted his backpack around, and held out both arms. "Uncle Paul!" he exclaimed. He almost burst out laughing at the shock on the Major's face. "Kidding, kidding."

Davis nodded again. "Is there some place we can go to talk?"

Oh, that wasn't good. Jack held up his hand. "Just... is anyone dead?"

Davis shook his head. "No, everyone is still alive." He hesitated, and for the first time a crack in his demeanor showed as he looked down at the sunglasses in his hand. "Last spring, General Hammond indicated that he planned to contact you--"

"He called me about Dr. Frasier." Jack took off his own sunglasses and busied himself in putting them in his jacket pocket. "He couldn't tell me how it happened, but he told me that she died."

"Right." Major Davis cleared his throat. "I know you have class in a short time, and we really need to talk."

No one else was dead, not Daniel or Carter or Teal'c or the General or the other him. That was something. "Sure," Jack said with false cheer. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink."

* * *

The drink turned out to be coffee, but Davis insisted on paying. Jack hadn't argued too hard, and had in fact grabbed a sandwich out of the coffee shop's cooler to slap on the counter.

Davis took his coffee black, something Jack remembered from far too many SGC briefings. The Major politely waited as Jack wolfed down half the sandwich. Through a mouthful, Jack gestured with his hand. "Why're you here?"

The corner of the Major's mouth quirked up into a bit of a smirk before he could stop himself. "It's more of a matter why you are here."

Jack knocked back some coffee to fortify himself for the conversation. "Got expelled at my last school, so I came here."

"You moved across the country to enroll in another school?"

"I'm not spending more than my allowance from the Air Force, if that's what you want to know." The cost of his move hadn't hurt much; just him and three suitcases of clothes and other things, on the train to St. Louis. He'd been in the military too long to let his possessions pile up.

"The money is not an issue at all," Davis said. "You are."

There it was again, Davis's discomfort at being with a clone of a high-ranking SGC commander. "I didn't exactly plan for being sixteen," Jack said, dropping his voice so no one would overhear them in the crowded coffee shop. "But here I am, and I just need to deal with it, all right? This is me, dealing."

"Our concern is more specific that you moving to St. Louis," Davis said.

"For crying out loud," Jack exclaimed. "What is it, then?"

Davis stared at him for a long moment. "Have you been infected with the lycanthropy virus?"

Jack looked at Davis. "Have I what?"

"Have you--"

"I heard you," Jack interrupted. How the hell had the military heard about the rumors that were being passed around school? "No, I haven't. I'm not... I'm just not."

Davis met Jack's glare. Jack wondered what was going on in the man's head. Would he believe Jack? Would he take Jack back with him to the SGC for a battery of tests? Would Jack be able to see the Stargate again, see how his team was doing, talk to--

"All right," Davis said, sitting back.

"So that's it?" Jack asked.

"Yes."

"You flew to St. Louis to ask me that question? Don't you people know how to use phones?"

Davis actually smiled. "No, I was asked to see how you were doing, in addition to clearing up these questions." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "And to inform you of a change in your living expense."

Shit, were they pulling his allowance? He'd be able to make do, he was used to living on very little, but...

His train of thought stuttered to a halt when he saw the numbers on the page. "I'm getting more?"

"General Hammond authorized the increase during the summer, but it had to go through the proper channels," Davis said. "I take it this is satisfactory?"

"Thank you, George," Jack murmured. Now he might be able to get a beat-up used car, so he could drive across town to school instead of spending hours on the bus, and maybe even get a phone line in his apartment.

Davis stood up, straightening his winter jacket. "There is a contact number there if you encounter any emergencies," he said. "Please call it, if your school threatens to expel you again."

"Sure thing," Jack said. He shoved the papers into his backpack and stood, holding his hand out to Davis. After all, Jack wasn't military anymore.

After only a second of hesitation, Davis shook. "Take care of yourself, Mr. O'Neill."

"You too, Major Davis."

They released hands. "Why St. Louis?" Davis asked.

Jack shrugged. "I used to come here fishing as a kid." Really, it was as good a reason as any.

Raising his eyebrows, the Major nodded, then made his way out of the coffee shop. Once he was gone, Jack picked up his backpack and his half-finished coffee, feeling just like it was Christmas.

 _Maybe a cell phone, instead of a landline. That would be cool,_ Jack thought, downing the rest of his cooling drink. _I wonder if that kid on the third floor of my building is still selling his X-Box, maybe I can get that._

As Jack tossed his coffee cup into the garbage, he noticed the time on the wall clock. Oh shit, he was going to be late for Zeeman's science class.

Jack ran.

* * *

Panting, Jack slid into his desk in the science classroom. Sandra gave him a sideways glance, but said noting.

"Where's Zeeman?" Jack asked once he had his breath back.

"Getting the guest lecturer," Sandra whispered. "You'd know that if you were on time."

"Hey, family emergency," Jack said.

"Uh huh."

The classroom door opened, and Zeeman stepped inside, directing a quelling glare at his muttering students. "All right, everyone, settle down," he said. "And you're all going to be on your best behavior while our guest is here, right?" Waiting until a few people nodded, Zeeman pushed the door open again. "Everyone, say hello to Anita Blake."

Jack's breath caught in his throat as the woman walked into the room. She was short and young and beautiful and quite possibly the most highly armed woman Jack had seen since he left the SGC.

His eyes ran down her body, taking in the tiny bulge under her arm that spoke of a shoulder holster, the slight thickness around one ankle that probably hid a knife in her boot. Her upright posture made Jack suspect she had another gun holster in the back of her tight jeans.

He flicked his gaze up to her face. She was scanning the classroom, a tiny smile on her face, but the way her eyes moved from side to side looked like she was trying to spot any threat. _She can't really think there's a threat, it has to be automatic,_ Jack thought. _What the hell does she do, that makes her look around a classroom of teenagers for threats?_

"Ms. Blake is a federal marshal, specializing in the preternatural," Zeeman continued. "She's agreed to come talk to us today about preternatural biology, as an introduction to the next subject area we'll be covering."

"Thanks, Richard," the woman said. She leaned against the teacher's desk, smiling a bit nervously around the classroom. "So, I guess we'll start."

Great, another lecture. Jack picked up his pen and drew a few doodles on his notebook, letting the words wash over him. Most of the talk was about various preternatural creepy-crawlies, some of which Jack knew a bit about in passing, other areas brand new. _We sure as hell never talked about vampires when I was in high school before,_ he thought, drawing a smiley face with fangs on the paper.

"Are there any ways to tell if someone's a lycanthrope?" asked a kid in the back of the class. Jack identified the speaker as a friend of Steven Mackerney, the locker room bully. He could probably guess where this was headed.

Anita Blake arched one eyebrow. "There are a few ways," she said. Jack noted she didn't explain what those were. "But you have to understand that some lycanthropes choose to hide their status due to society's prejudices against them."

"Because they're monsters?"

The mild expression on Anita's face bled away as she glared at the kid. "The status of someone with lycanthropy has nothing to do with being a 'monster'," she said coldly. "It changes the physical state, not the mental state."

"How can you say that?" the kid demanded. "You were on national television a couple of months ago executing that werewolf in the mall food court!"

That was it, where Jack recognized Anita's name from. He'd been in Colorado at the time, but even the local news had picked up the public execution of the werewolf serial killer in St. Louis. Jack twirled his pen in his fingers, glancing over at Zeeman. The teacher's face was completely blank, which made Jack frown.

"Van Anders was a special case," Anita said. "He had murdered several women and police officers."

"Because he was a monster!"

Jack dug the tip of his pen into the paper. He'd spent a very long time protecting his country from monsters, and it had only been recently that most weren't human. "There's been more murders done by monsters that are just human, than those who aren't," Jack interrupted, not able to keep quiet any longer and listen to this shit.

"Like what?"

"What, are you stupid?" Jack exclaimed. He dropped his pen and turned in his seat to glare at the kid. "How about the world wars? Bosnia? Hell, how about what's happening in Sudan right now?"

"What do you mean, Sudan? Where's that?" The kid looked honestly confused.

Jack bit back several retorts, all of which would only end in a fight. He made himself turn around in his chair, facing the front of the classroom. Anita glanced at him curiously before looking over at Zeeman.

"Let's get back on topic, okay?" Zeeman said. "Remember, Ms. Blake has a degree in preternatural biology and has been working in the field for a very long time. She knows what she's talking about."

The kid in the back kept his mouth shut this time. Jack picked up his pen again as Anita changed the topic to vampires.

 _Why did Zeeman let that get out of hand?_ Jack wondered. _He's always really quick to stop mouthy kids._

_And I wonder why Anita didn't explain ways to pick out lycanthropes in human form?_

Something was pricking at the back of Jack's mind, but he didn't have enough information yet. Soon, he'd figure this out.

* * *

Jack hung back after class ended, taking his sweet time in packing up his books. Strangely, today none of the girls wanted to stay and talk to Zeeman after class.

 _Fine by me._ He made his way up to the front of the classroom where Anita and Zeeman were talking quietly.

Zeeman broke off when Jack got within earshot. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked.

"Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to Marshal Blake for a minute," Jack said. "If she's got some time?"

Anita shrugged. "Sure, what's up? Do you have more questions about lycanthropes?"

"Yeah, sorry about that," Jack said, not really meaning it. "I do that a lot."

"Argue with classmates?" Anita's eyes were dancing, and some part of Jack was pleased that she didn't seem angry with him.

"No, interrupt ladies during lectures," Jack said, smiling. When he realized what he was doing, he gave himself a mental kick. _Oh God, I'm flirting! She thinks I'm a sixteen-year-old kid and I'm flirting with her!_ Quickly, he switched gears. "I wanted to know, what made you want to become a federal marshal?"

She obviously hadn't been expecting that question. She frowned while thinking about her answer. "It wasn't the plan," she finally said. "I was working as a vampire executioner, and then the feds decided to make us all federal marshals. Those of us who were already executioners were grandfathered in, as long as we passed the weapons test."

Jack glanced down at the bulge in her jacket, realizing only too late that it probably looked as if he was looking at her chest. _Eyes front!_

"Why do you ask?" Anita continued. "Interested in a career in law enforcement?"

Jack shook his head. "Military. Air Force."

"Really?" That seemed to surprise Anita. She threw a questioning glance over her shoulder at Zeeman. "Why?"

 _Because it's what I know._ "I love to fly," he said, which was also true.

Anita shuddered. "I hate flying."

"Really?" Jack grinned at her. "You've just never flown your own plane. Going Mach 3, the only thing between you and certain death is a thin sheet of metal?"

"You're not convincing me of anything," Anita said. Then she smiled. "What's your name?"

"Me? Oh, I'm Jack O'Neill."

"You're Jack?" she asked. "Richard has told me a lot about you."

It was Jack's turn to be surprised. What kind of relationship did Zeeman have with this lady, to be talking about students? Jack wouldn't think that a high school science teacher would socialize with a vampire-slaying preternatural expert. "Whatever it was, I didn't do it."

Anita arched an eyebrow at him, making Jack's libido do a little jump. "You don't know what he told me."

"A blanket denial never hurts anyone," Jack replied.

"It wasn't anything bad," Zeeman interrupted. "Now, Jack, don't you have class to get to?"

He could take a hint. "Thanks for the lecture," he said to Anita.

"You're quite welcome."

On his way out of the classroom, Jack gave Zeeman a quick nod, relieved when the man didn't glare at him or anything.

 _That was certainly weird,_ Jack thought as he made his way down the hall. Everyone else in the class had seemed to know a lot about Anita Blake. She'd seemed like a nice lady, if you could ignore the fact that she was dressed for a fight to the death. Hell, Jack had gone up against the Goa'uld with less weaponry.

Jack decided to head down the library for his free period. If Anita had been in the news last month, he might be able to find something else about her on the school's computers, which he hoped were hooked up to the internet.

Maybe then he could figure out what was bothering him about this whole situation.

* * *

Richard followed Jack to the door of the classroom and closed it after him. Behind him, he could hear Anita pacing across the floor, her footfalls soft on the linoleum.

"That is the last time I do you a favor," she was saying. She seemed less pissed off than annoyed, for which Richard thanked his lucky stars. "You have to deal with these kids every day?"

Richard smiled at the door as he turned the deadbolt. "Every other day," he corrected, closing the blinds before turning around.

Anita was watching him warily. "Why did you close the blinds?" she demanded.

Richard shrugged. "I've got a free block," he said, smiling at her. "Prep time."

She blinked at him. "Richard!" she finally said, sounding scandalized. "We're in the middle of a school!"

He backed her up against the desk. "What do you think I'm going to do?" he rumbled. So close to her, the familiar scent of her hair and her skin and her weapons and just _her_ filled his senses.

"I'm not sure, but I don't think you should be doing it," Anita said, her voice a little breathy. He loved how he could affect her so much. Slowly, he bent down and pressed a soft kiss on her lips.

Reluctantly, Richard pulled back. "Thanks for coming in today."

She smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist. "It didn't suck," she said. "Jack managed to distract that brat in the back row before I said something stupid."

"Yeah, me too." Richard ran his hands down Anita's back, stopping when he felt the gun tucked into her jeans. "I shouldn't be surprised at those attitudes, I guess, but--"

"It's not okay," Anita said, squeezing him. Her large brown eyes were so serious in her face, watching him closely. "They're sixteen, they should know better than that."

Richard smiled to try and consol Anita, but he felt cold inside. This was what he had to live with, hiding the fact that he was a werewolf while having to teach kids who would be terrified of him if they knew what he turned into on the full moon.

"You're a good man," Anita said.

"Am I?" Richard couldn't help but ask. He turned his head when he saw how confused Anita was. "Forget I said that," he said, pulling away.

"I'm not going to forget," Anita snapped, putting her hand on her hip. "I'm not going to argue semantics with you today."

"Fine." Richard busied himself straightening the desks for the next class. He didn't want to talk to Anita about this. She never understood.

"Not fine. Nothing's going to change the fact that you're good, Richard. You can ask anyone you want; Sylvie, Jamil, Jason." When Richard didn't respond to that, she added, "How about your mother?"

Richard whirled around. "Don't bring my mother into this."

"Why not?" Anita stalked toward him. "Your mother's a good judge of character, you idiot, and it's not just that you're her son."

Richard brushed past Anita and went back to his desk. "Can we drop this?" he demanded.

Without fail, every time he and Anita got onto this topic, they started fighting. Richard could almost set his watch by her reaction.

She didn't speak for a few minutes. Finally, she moved over to a front-row desk and hopped up on its top. "Jack wasn't like what I was expecting," she said, signaling that they'd continue the argument later.

Richard could hardly wait. "Yeah, he's a character."

"I mean, when you told me that he was brilliant, I figure he was like some kind of egghead, not..."

"Not a poster-boy for Uncle Sam?"

"That too." She bit her lower lip. "Did you see how he was checking me out?"

A spurt of jealousy ran through Richard, which he quickly quashed. For God's sake, Jack was just a kid. "No, I missed that."

"Not like that," Anita said, making a face. "I mean, that'd make more sense, but he kept looking at my boot and my armpit."

"So maybe he'd got an ankle fetish," Richard said, closing his briefcase with a bit too much force.

Anita sighed. She brought her leg up onto her desk and pulled up her pant leg. "He was looking at this," she said, pointing at the knife in her boot. "And where my Browning was hidden."

Richard frowned. "Are you sure?"

"It's like I spend my life around people trying to disarm me, Richard, I know the different between someone looking at my breasts, and at my gun."

Richard shook his head. "You must be imagining it."

Anita pulled her pant leg back into place. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Bullshit. You're too jumpy for just being you. What's wrong?"

Richard picked up a small shell that he kept on his desk, just to have something to do with his hands. He hadn't wanted to talk to her about this, but maybe it wouldn't hurt to have her on board. Just in case. "Rumors," he finally said. "I keep hearing rumors and it's bothering me."

"What sort of rumors?" Anita asked, sliding off the desk.

"Just little things. Some werewolf has an interest in St. Louis, then it's two, then ten, then none."

"Have you talked to Sylvie about this?"

"Yeah." Richard turned the shell over, let the light catch the inside curve with its pale pink lining. "Jamil and Shang Da are looking everywhere, but they can't find a damn thing."

"Is there anything I can do?" Anita asked.

Richard shook his head. "I don't even know what I'm looking for," he confessed. "I just have a bad feeling about this, and I can't say why."

Anita's hands covered his. "We'll do what we always do," she said softly. He looked up, seeing the resolve on her face. "We'll find out and we'll deal with it."

Richard set the shell back on the desk, and raised Anita's hand to his face. "I hate not knowing what's going on, especially when it comes to the pack."

Anita went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "Me too. But we'll figure it out."

Richard made himself smile at her, even though he wasn't feeling at all reassured.

He just wish he knew what was bothering him so much about the situation.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack waited until the last sophomore wandered out of Zeeman's classroom after last period before ducking into the room. The school always emptied early on Friday afternoons. Everyone had been acting weird all day; Jack wasn't sure if it was the approaching weekend, something in the food, or the full moon the following night.

_If one more person looks at me like I'm going to get all furry tomorrow, I won't be held responsible for what I do._

Zeeman was shoving things into his briefcase. "Hey, Mr. Zeeman?" Jack said.

Zeeman jerked his head up. "Jack," he said, recovering badly from his surprise. "Is it important? I have to go."

"It was about the term project," Jack said, shifting his backpack on his shoulder. "Can I change the topic you gave me? I really suck at physics--"

"No." Zeeman picked up his briefcase. "I gave you those topics for a reason. It's a learning experience, not a picnic."

Jack wasn't sure what to say. He had never heard Zeeman be so abrupt before. "Fine, I just had to ask."

"Jack, wait a sec," Zeeman said. He rested his hand on the edge of the desk. "I didn't give anyone anything I didn't think they could handle." He took a breath, as if he was going to say more, then convulsed and fell to the floor.

Jack dropped his backpack and ran the dozen steps to the front of the room. Zeeman's back arched up off the ground, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

 _Seizure: clear the area,_ Jack thought frantically as decades of military first-aid training kicked in. He grabbed his teacher's arms and jerked him away from the desks, into the open patch of floor at the front of the classroom.

The man convulsed again, then went still.

"Oh fuck," Jack muttered, unbuttoning the man's collar and jerking his tie down. His fingers felt for Zeeman's pulse. There it was, pounding irregularly beneath the man's too-hot skin.

_A fever?_

Quicker than Jack could follow, Zeeman grabbed Jack's hand and jerked him to the side with inhuman strength. Jack slammed into the wall, his head smacking into the concrete hard. Zeeman was on his knees, his hand grinding the bones in Jack's arm. Whatever Jack was going to say stuck in his throat when he saw his teacher's face.

Zeeman's brown eyes had changed to amber.

Wolf's eyes.

Panic pressed on Jack's chest. _This can't be fucking happening, my teacher can't be a werewolf and he can't eat me in science class, that sort of death would just be too ironic._

Something passed over Zeeman's face, and he quickly let go of Jack's wrist before skittering backwards on the floor until he hit the side of his desk. He pulled his legs up against his chest and buried his head in his hands.

For a long while, the only sound in the classroom was Zeeman's heavy breathing.

 _I guess that explains how he always sneaks up on me,_ Jack thought dizzily. He rubbed at his wrist. Nothing felt broken or sprained, but he'd have a hell of a bruise tomorrow. He contemplated running, in case Zeeman couldn't pull it together, but discarded that idea quickly. Jack was fast, but nowhere near fast enough to outrun a werewolf. _And Zeeman doesn't look like he's going to freak out anymore._

"So, uh, are you okay?" Jack asked finally.

Zeeman looked up, his eyes back to normal. He blinked a few times, then his gaze traveled down to where Jack was cradling his wrist. A horrified expression spread across his face. "Jack--"

"It's fine," Jack said quickly. An anxious werewolf on the night before the full moon was not something Jack wanted to deal with. "See?" He held up his arm. "It'll be fine."

"That's not..." The man's voice broke. "I've never done anything like that before, I swear."

"Do you know why you fell over?" Jack asked, deliberately misunderstanding. He wondered who else knew the man was a werewolf. Surely the school couldn't know; they'd never have let a lycanthrope teach. But a certain federal marshal had to know. _No wonder Anita Blake didn't tell us how to spot a lycanthrope in human form, in that lecture last week,_ Jack thought. _She would never give up Zeeman like that._

Richard hesitated, then shook his head. "Everything's fine now."

"Okay." Carefully and slowly, Jack stood up. "You need any help out to your car or anything?"

"No." Just as carefully, Zeeman got to his feet.

Even though he knew Zeeman, Jack suddenly wanted to be as far away as possible. He knew his teacher wasn't going to attack him in the empty classroom, but the memory of that Russian werewolf's claws ripping into Bill Harris's chest was as vivid in his head as the day it occurred. "Great," Jack said, backing towards the door. "Then I'll go. Now."

"Jack--"

"Bye. Have fun tomorrow night." Jack felt like kicking himself as the words came out of his mouth, then he was out the door and almost running down the hallway.

He wasn't freaking out. No way. He was just making a strategic retreat. _Bullshit,_ he told himself disgustedly as he burst out the doors into the parking lot. _You're freaking out because you can't deal with the idea of Captain America in there being an animal one night of the month._

Jack kept moving, fumbling for his keys. He reached the old Chevy he'd bought second-hand with his increased allowance and got in as quickly as possible. He wanted to be out of the parking lot, away from all this crazy shit, away from lycanthropic teachers, from school, from his goddamned fucking _life_.

* * *

He made it back to his apartment without a problem. Once inside, he kicked the door closed and bolted the lock before he dropped his backpack on the floor.

"Okay, now what?" he asked the empty room.

As usual, the room didn't have any answers. Frustrated, Jack kicked his backpack against the wall and stormed into the kitchen. The only thing in the fridge was an almost-empty box of Chinese food.

Jack grabbed a take-out menu off the fridge and wandered into his tiny living room. He flopped onto the armchair and dialed up the restaurant. After ordering his usual, Jack hung up the phone and let his head fall back onto the chair.

What was he going to do?

He rubbed at his wrist. Zeeman hadn't done any permanent damage to his arm, and the teacher had seemed totally freaked out when he realized what he'd done. But why had he done it? Was it the upcoming full moon? He'd seemed fine in class earlier in the day.

No one Jack had talked to had indicated Zeeman had done anything weird, in the time they knew him. So the freak-out after class was probably an isolated incident.

 _I can't imagine that Anita Blake would let him get away with anything,_ Jack thought. He'd spent a couple of nights on the Internet, reading all sorts of things about the Federal Marshal. It had taken a lot of digging to get through the tabloid speculation about her vampire lovers, but Jack had found enough news stories to tell him that Blake wouldn't put her personal feelings above the public safety.

_So now what?_

The phone rang in his hand. Thinking that it was the restaurant, Jack didn't bother to open his eyes as he lifted the receiver to his ear. "Yeah?"

"Jack?"

Jack opened his eyes. He knew that voice. "General Hammond?"

"Yes."

"What's wrong?" Jack demanded.

"Nothing's wrong," the General said. "And I thought I said you can call me George."

Jack shook his head. "Why are you calling?" Something occurred to him. "Did Davis say something to you?"

"No, he did not." George's voice on the phone sounded almost light. _So no one's dead this time._ Jack's stomach began to unclench. "I called to see how you were doing."

"Doing? I'm having to suffer through my junior at high school _again_ and I keep being the subject of 'adult intervention'," Jack said, leaning back in his chair. "Is that really why you called?"

The slight hesitation on the other end of the line gave Jack his answer. "No," George said. "Major Davis indicated that prior to his visit, he learned that there have been rumors arising that indicated you were--"

"A gay werewolf, I know," Jack said. "But I'm not." He paused. "On both counts."

"I have to say I'm glad to hear that, Jack."

"Yeah, can't get back into the Air Force like that," Jack quipped humorlessly.

George sighed. "I know about what happened with Bill Harris in Russia."

"It's not that." Jack rubbed his eyes, then winced at the pain in his wrist. "I've been thinking about the Air Force policy on lycanthropes. That's all."

"Well, I'm not sure if you've heard, but there is a proposal before the Joint Chiefs to have any Armed Forces member who is accidentally infected with lycanthropy to be honorably discharged with pension."

"Instead of the old bum rush? How damned sweet of them," Jack said.

"Jack."

"I know, I know."

"You will remember having this discussion with me, back when we were staffing the SG teams."

Jack barely had time to marvel at how cool George seemed to be, referring to conversations he'd had with the other Jack. "I remember the nice 'offer' we got from the Pentagon, to send werewolves through the gate as canon fodder. I remember you turned it down for a whole hell of a lot of reasons."

"The doctors couldn't verify what might happen to a shape-shifter once removed from Earth's influence," George said. "Let alone the civil rights nightmare of placing a different value on human life based upon a genetic condition. I wasn't going to have that happening under my watch."

"Yeah," Jack grumbled. "It's just..."

"What?"

"What if some of those guys could have made the difference in a fight?"

"Or what if a Goa'uld infected a werewolf? Jack, the Goa'uld are already so difficult to kill, adding lycanthropic healing and speed could have potentially been a disaster."

"I know." Jack stared down at the developing bruise on his wrist. "But the Goa'uld have to know about lycanthropes, they were on Earth for thousands of years. Why didn't they take furry hosts?"

"I can't say," George said.

"Daniel probably knows."

"That's likely."

Damn it, Jack wanted to ask how his team was, even his other self, but he knew George wouldn't tell him. He hated this. "So yeah, I'm not a lycanthrope, I'm keeping out of trouble, and I'll be back in the Academy in no time," he said to change the subject. "If you guys can keep the world safe 'til I'm back."

"We'll try. You take care of yourself, and if anything happens, you call."

"Davis gave me a number to call."

"Jack, you can call me."

Suddenly, Jack was hit with a wave of homesickness that almost made him gasp. _I can't go back to that, so stop thinking of it!_ "I appreciate that, George. Thanks."

* * *

Richard bounded down the stairs to the Master of the City's lair underneath the Circus of the Damned, anger stirring in his gut. He was pissed at Jean-Claude for that power drain earlier in the day, mad at Anita for not being able to stop it, and furious at himself for losing control around a student.

 _And Jack, too!_ That kid was too observant. He hadn't had a moment's hesitation to pull together what was happening with Richard.

If Jack went to the school board, Richard would certainly be fired. There was also the distinct possibility he'd be run out of town. People did not want animals teaching their children.

Richard knew a wave of anger and power crackled around him, but he didn't care, not even as he swept past the werewolves Jean-Claude kept down here. Stephen and Jason, who had been sitting in the living room, both collapsed into cowering heaps as Richard strode past. Still, Jason managed to squeeze out, "Richard, wait."

Richard whirled and took the few steps to Jason. The blond werewolf rolled his eyes up at his Ulfric, as submissive as he had ever been. "What?" Richard growled.

"Jean-Claude wants to see you," Jason said, trying to hold himself still and small.

"Good." Richard glared at Jason, angry at how he wasn't standing up to him, how he was acting so submissive. At this point, Richard would almost have welcomed a fight, even with someone as low in the pack as Jason.

He stalked off before he could do something stupid.

Jean-Claude's bedroom door was open, and Richard barged on in. Jean-Claude lounged on the crimson sheets, dressed in one of his stupid lacy white shirts and those leather pants Anita liked so very much.

Speaking of Anita, she sat on the edge of the bed. When Richard came through the door, she looked up at him with wide dark eyes.

"What the hell happened?" Richard demanded. "What kind of shit were the two of you pulling down here?"

" _Mon ami_ ," Jean-Claude began, but Richard suddenly, violently, didn't want to hear the seductive French words coming out of the vampire's mouth.

"Shut up!" Richard shouted. "Anita, what happened?"

Anita's wide-eyed innocent look quickly turned into a heated glare. "I'm so sorry we interrupted your prep time, Richard," she said sarcastically. "We were too busy with Gretchen going psycho down here!"

"What are you talking about?" Richard remembered Gretchen, one of Jean-Claude's little minions. The one who tried to kill Anita and Richard's friend Louis a few years ago. "What about her?"

"Gretchen has not been doing well in recent months," Jean-Claude said, oozing bonlessly up off the bed. "I believe that I underestimated the fragility of her mind when I shut her into a cross-bound coffin for so long."

"So what?"

"So she went feral when she woke up today," Anita said, bouncing off the bed and walking over to Richard, her hands on her hips. "She tried to eat Valentina."

"That little kid vampire? She's still here?"

" _Oui,_ " Jean-Claude said, tendrils of cold power leaking around the room. He glared at Richard. "It is only thanks to Asher and Damian's close proximity during the attack that spared Valentina any permanent damage."

"Gretchen's back in the box," Anita said. "And Valentina's going to be fine, she's just really pissed off."

"I drew upon my ties with you, Richard, in order to subdue Gretchen." Jean-Claude regarded him with narrowed eyes. "If I had not, if Valentina had been damaged, we would be in a most dangerous position, as I am sure you can see." The sarcasm was thick enough to chew on.

Richard had no idea what Jean-Claude was talking about, and looked at Anita. She let out an exasperated sigh and flung up her hands. "Valentina's not our vampire, she's Belle Morte's vampire! If Valentina were hurt badly because of one of Jean-Claude's vampires went crazy, then the Council could demand payment because of it!"

"That's barbaric," Richard said before he could think.

"It is the Council," Jean-Claude said. "Belle Morte is a most creative mistress. She could ask for anything. A tribute of _ma petite's_ leopards, or the deaths of several of my vampires. Perhaps even you."

It took all of Richard's willpower to hide the cold shiver of revulsion that ran down his spine at Jean-Claude's words. He remembered the visit of Belle Morte's envoy only a month ago. "But you stopped it. I mean, you stopped Gretchen."

"We did," Jean-Claude said. "Luckily, _ma petite_ spent the night in my bed, and with her so close we could raise power."

Anita threw Jean-Claude an unhappy look over her shoulder. "Jean-Claude, can you not do this now?"

Jean-Claude gave her innocent eyes. "Do what?"

Panic and fear and anger coiled in Richard's stomach like bad meat. "Are you okay?" he asked Anita.

"I'm fine," she snapped. "What the hell was so important that you freaked out over it?"

Richard paced across the room, partly to let off his nervous energy and partly so he wouldn't have to look at Jean-Claude anymore. "I was with a student when it happened."

Anita's sharp intake of breath seemed loud in the still room. "Did... did something happen?"

"Yes. No. Almost." Richard reached the far wall and pressed his palm against the cold stone. "Jack O'Neill came to see me after class." He pressed harder, feeling the stone bite into his skin. "I... um..."

Anita appeared at Richard's side, her small hand warm on his arm. "What happened?" she asked in a soft voice.

If Richard tried really hard, he could pretend that Jean-Claude wasn't listening to every word. "I collapsed and Jack tried to take my pulse. I thought... It was like he was going for my throat. I couldn't help myself."

"What did you do?"

"I grabbed his wrist." Richard remembered what the boy's thin wrist felt like in his hand, remembered how it felt to hover on the edge of pulling back, and shifting and eating his enemy. "I think my eyes changed. I don't know." He pulled away from Anita. "I let him go, but he knew what I was."

"Oh God," Anita breathed. "Is he going to tell?"

Richard shrugged. "He didn't freak out."

"So there's a chance he's not going to tell the school board," Anita said, her voice growing stronger. "Look, we can talk to him, explain--"

"Explain what, Anita?" Richard demanded. "Explain how I'm a werewolf but oh, it's okay because I never go around attacking children and he should just forget that I was going to eat him?"

"Richard, calm--"

"I'm not going to calm down!" Richard shouted. He turned around to leave, but Jean-Claude was standing just behind him. Richard took one step forward, getting in Jean-Claude's face. The vampire had to raise his eyes slightly. "Move."

Jean-Claude's eyebrow arched. "You experienced a large power drain the day before a full moon, had a child reach for your throat while you were helpless, and yet you refrained from doing anything more dangerous than grabbing his arm. Yes, I can see why you consider yourself a threat to all."

"Jean-Claude, would you stop helping?" Anita demanded.

"If the Ulfric wishes to continue to berate himself, I will not stand in his way," Jean-Claude continued dryly. "But I grow weary of this. Come, Richard, tell me of these rumors of alien wolves in my territory." He stepped back and walked to the bed.

Richard blinked. What had just happened?

"These rumors have come to me through Jason, who is quite adept at gathering such information." Jean-Claude leaned against the bedpost. "These wolves, I hear, are interested in St. Louis?"

Richard shook his head.

"Richard, this is how it works," Jean-Claude said. "You help me maintain my powerbase, and I return the favor to you. How can I assist you in protecting our pack and territory if you do not give me all the information?"

Anita wandered across the room. "Look, Jean-Claude, there's still the deal of Richard being outed to the school board to deal with!"

Jean-Claude carelessly waved a hand. "One boy can be dealt with."

"Just what the hell does that mean?" Richard asked, bristling.

Jean-Claude gave him a look. "Why do you always assign nefarious purposes to my every suggestion?"

"Because he knows you?"

" _Ma petite_ , your words wound me. I simply mean that a boy can be reasoned with, be convinced that what he saw was only a trick of the light. Without any influence on his mind," Jean-Claude added when Anita frowned.

"I don't know about that," Richard mumbled. "Something's just a little... off, about Jack. He's not a normal kid."

"Then it will be easier to handle him," Jean-Claude said. "Today's teenager is a strange creature."

Anita's eyebrows went up. "And how would you know?"

"The number of teenagers that come to the Circus, _ma petite,_ make it an easy deduction." Jean-Claude settled on the bed. "Come, Richard, let us get back to the business at hand. We can not decide what to do with Gretchen until the message has reached Belle Morte and we hear her demands. If we are lucky, in light of Valentina's minor injuries, then Gretchen's death will suffice."

"And if we aren't lucky?"

"Then I will deal with that issue." The expression on Jean-Claude's face signaled that the discussion was closed. "Tell me of werewolf rumors."

Richard really wanted to sigh, but managed to hold it in. Why was he doing this? Some days it was more trouble than it was worth to argue with Jean-Claude. "Jamil says he's heard that it's three of them, and one's making noise about being a better Ulfric than me."

"That's it?" Anita asked. "No idea where they are, or even who it is?"

"None. Shang Da wasn't surprised; the reputation of the pack is pretty low with the recent problems we've had."

Jean-Claude was tactful enough to avoid mentioning that most of the problems were related to Richard. "But still, for such rumors to come instead of a direct challenge," the vampire mused. "It does not sound like the wolf in question has much faith in his ability to defeat you in a fight."

"Yeah, but Chimera was going to do the same thing," Anita pointed out.

"But that's not how it works!" Richard exclaimed. "If another werewolf kills me, then Sylvie becomes Ulfric!"

Anita shook her head angrily. "Can we please not talk about you dying?" she shouted.

" _Ma petite_ , it is all right," Jean-Claude said. "If this is not a challenge to the line of succession, then we may both help Richard in any way possible."

"Yeah, anything to prevent the two of you dying if I get killed," Richard said, unable to keep the cynicism out of his voice.

Anita glared at him, something deeply wounded in her eyes. Without a word, she pushed past him and left the room.

"Oh, well done," Jean-Claude mocked. "She attempts to help you and you dismiss her feelings for you."

Richard knew he wasn't in the right, but being told so by Jean-Claude made him mad. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" he exclaimed. "My life is falling apart--"

Jean-Claude moved so fast that Richard didn't even have time to put his arms up before Jean-Claude slammed him into the wall. The vampire's eyes were glowing blue, and his lips were pulled back to show his fangs. "Do not speak to me about your life ending," he hissed, his hands balled up in Richard's shirt vibrating with coiled, deadly energy. "I made Gretchen into a vampire, promised her my protection. She went mad because I shut her in a cross-wrapped coffin for trying to kill Anita. I will have to kill Gretchen now." He shoved Richard hard, and stepped away. "This is not protection, Richard. Do not speak to me of disaster, if one child finds out your dirty little secret."

Richard didn't know what to say, and the room fell into an uneasy silence.

* * *

Jack spent most of the weekend doing homework and playing X-Box. By Sunday afternoon, he'd had enough of being stuck in his apartment. Ignoring the growing cold outside, he laced up his runners and went for a run. He got back to his apartment just in time to hear his cell phone ringing. He scooped it up as soon as he got inside. "Hello?"

"Hey. Is this Jack?"

Jack didn't recognize the young male voice. "Yeah, who's this?"

"It's Pete."

"Pete who?"

"Pete. We met at Sandra's school that time?"

"Oh, yeah." Now Jack remembered the punk teen. "What's up?"

"Have you seen Sandra?"

Jack frowned as he unlaced his shoes. "Not since class on Friday. Why?"

"Her old man said she didn't come home from the library this morning," the boy said. "You sure you didn't see her? He's freaking the fuck out."

"Look, Pete, I haven't seen her." Jack kicked his shoe across the floor. Just great. He had to deal with a jealous boyfriend. "Maybe she's still at the library."

"No, man, she didn't show up for her shift at the coffee shop," Pete said. "And she ain't answering her phone, neither. She always answers."

That certainly didn't sound like the girl Jack knew. "Did her dad call the cops?"

Pete made a rude noise. "They aren't going to give a fuck if some girl from down here misses her job. Look, if you hear from her, you tell her to call her folks."

The connection died. Jack stared down at the phone in his hand, wondering what the hell was going on.

Maybe Sandra just decided to bail on her job for a day. It wouldn't be the first time a teenager had played hooky. Hell, Jack had done it himself as a kid.

But still, something felt off about this. Not sure what it was, Jack uneasily went to have a shower.

* * *

_Okay, something is very wrong._

Jack stood up with the dirty piece of paper in his hand. He'd found it at the bus stop outside the library.

He hadn't been able to shake Pete's phone call, and after his shower he hopped in his car to drive around a little. He had ended up at the library Sandra had told him she went to a lot to do her studying.

Wishing it was a mistake, but knowing that was unlikely, Jack read the paper again. It was Zeeman's assignment page from Friday, the personalized one he'd handed out at the beginning of class. This one had Sandra's name at the top. It had been freshly ripped and had a shoe-print on it, and it had blown against the back of the bus stop. It hadn't been there long enough to gather any other dirt.

Once Jack found the paper, it was blindly apparent that something had happened to Sandra. A few yards down the street, he found her pencil case, and another dozen yards after that he spotted her history textbook beside a trash can.

 _Shit._ Jack pulled out his cell phone. Should he call the cops first? Or... No, he didn't have Sandra's parents' number. He could call Pete back from the number on his call display, or--

His phone rang. Frowning at the familiar number, Jack hit the call button. "Hello?"

"J-Jack?"

"Sandra?" Jack exclaimed. "Where the hell are you? Your dad is--"

"Jack, I need help," Sandra whispered. "I tried calling home and Pete but they're both busy! I don't know where I am, just some people grabbed me and I don't want to _be_ here!"

"It's going to be okay," Jack said. "You need to stay calm. Do you know where you are?"

"No," Sandra sniffled. Her voice grew stronger. "There's lots of trees, like in the woods outside the city."

"Do you know who grabbed you?" Jack asked, already bolting for his car.

"I didn't know them, but their car was blue with rust spots in the passenger side door, and no mirror on that side."

"Good. How many of them were there?" There was no noise on the line for a moment. "Sandra?"

"Hello," a different voice said. Male, older, Jack catalogued in the back of his head. "Who is this?"

"Jack. Who is this?"

The man laughed, scratchy and low. "You ever want to see your little girlfriend again, kid, you do exactly what I tell you."

"What's that?" Jack asked, fumbling with his keys in his car door.

"You in class with this pretty little girl?"

Jack's hand froze on the car door. "If you lay a hand on her, I'll kill you," he said. It wasn't a threat, it was real. If whatever psychopath had grabbed Sandra touched her like that, Jack was going to cause him some serious damage.

"She is a tasty looking morsel," the man said. "But here's the thing. You don't want her to get eaten, you call up that science teacher of yours, and you tell him to open the letter we left at his house. Oh, and don't call the cops. We're monitoring the emergency lines." The phone went dead.

Jack tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. He didn't know what the hell he was going to do, but he could try and figure that out while he was on the move.

"Motherfucking goddamned werewolves," Jack swore as he peeled into traffic. Give him the Goa'uld any day; they at least didn't eat teenage girls.

After Sandra was safe, he was going to have to have a long talk with Richard Zeeman. Now all he had to do was find the man.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hi, You've reached Richard Zeeman. I'm not available to take your call right now, but please leave a message."

Jack swore under his breath. He hated voicemail. "Mr. Zeeman, it's Jack O'Neill, you really need to call me. It's about--" Jack glanced over at the shop clerk eyeing him suspiciously. Bending over the phonebook, Jack continued. "It's about Sandra, she's got some real bad family stuff going on right now, and it's really a lot like your situation so I thought you'd be able to help." Where was Daniel when Jack needed subtlety? "You've got to call me as soon as you get this message, life and death and I am really not kidding around." Jack gave the answering machine his cell number, then hung up.

The store clerk leaned over. "You done, huh?"

Jack gave the man a winning grin. "Not yet."

The clerk grunted. "Hurry up or I start charging you rent on that book!"

Jack ignored the man. Richard wouldn't be at school, it was a Sunday. He might be at a friend's house, but how the hell was Jack supposed to find him that way? He wasn't sure if the werewolves were really listening to the police lines, but he couldn't risk it. Not yet.

Thinking of law enforcement made an idea pop into Jack's head. Anita Blake was police, sort of, and she seemed to have a rather close relationship with Zeeman. At least, that was how it looked in class when she gave the guest lecture. _That might just work,_ Jack thought.

No Anita Blake was listed in the residential section of the book. Jack couldn't quite remember the name of her company from the information that he had read online, something to do with zombies. Would that be in the business section? He couldn't find anything under Z for zombies. _This is what my life is, aliens and zombies and fucked-up werewolves. Maybe we can get Thor to start cloning werewolves and then--_

Animators Inc., listed under A, had a quarter-page ad. Jack whipped out his cell phone and dialled the number. _Please let them work on Sundays._

"Animators Inc."

"Hi!" Jack blurted out. "I need to talk to Anita Blake. Now."

"Ms. Blake is not in at this time, can I take a message for her?" said the female voice on the other end of the line, unperturbed.

"No, I can't leave a message," Jack said. He slapped the phone book closed and exited the shop, giving the clerk the thumbs-up on his way out. "Is there any way you can give me her cell number? It's a family emergency thing."

"We cannot give out our partners' contact information," the woman said. "If you leave me a message, I can get it to Ms. Blake."

Jack pulled his jacket tight around his chest, trying to block out the biting cold. He didn't have time for this. Sandra didn't have time for this. "It had to do with Richard Zeeman," Jack said, playing his trump card. "I really need to talk to Anita, please."

The woman hesitated, long enough for Jack to make it back to his car. "I'm not sure..."

"Please." Jack gripped his keys in his hand, wishing desperately for his team. Daniel would be able to get the number out of this woman. Hell, Carter could hack into something and find the contact. And Teal'c... well, him and Teal'c could find the furry bastards who took Sandra and rip them into pieces. But he didn't have his team, they weren't _his_ team, and he was on his own.

"All right," the woman finally said. She rattled off a number so fast that Jack barely had time to scratch it into the dirt on the top of his car. "You are not to use that number frivolously, young man," she finished.

"Thank you," Jack said. He hung up without another word and quickly dialled Anita's cell. Every ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, the line clicked.

"This is Anita Blake. I am currently away from the phone. Leave a message."

 _Damn it!_ Jack kicked the dented side panel of his car. Why have a cell phone if it wasn't on? "Marshal Blake, it's Jack O'Neill," Jack said after the requisite beep. "I need to get in touch with Richard Zeeman right away, it's important."

Jack's first instinct was to keep this all to himself, born from almost a decade of saving the universe from the Goa'uld. But Anita dealt with crazy lycanthropes as her job. It was probably a bad idea to trust her, but Sandra didn't have time for caution.

"I just got a call from Sandra, this girl in my class. She got grabbed by some werewolves and they're holding her." Jack took a deep breath. "This one guy, he said that Richard Zeeman needs to open a letter they left at his house. Sandra didn't know where she was, but she said the car was blue with a rusty passenger door and no passenger-side mirror. They also said they were monitoring the emergency lines, so I didn't call the cops." Jack paused. "Look, Sandra's just a kid. I don't care what Zeeman's deal is, but I officially do not care. Get her out of this."

Jack ended the call and stepped into his car, tossing the phone onto the seat next to him. He started the engine and peeled out onto the road, not knowing where he was going. He had no idea how to find Sandra or even where to start looking. All he did know was that he couldn't sit around doing nothing. Sandra was the same age as Skarra had been when the Goa'uld took him as host.

She was the same age that his son, Charlie, would have been, if Jack hadn't been careless enough to leave his gun loaded in a drawer.

If there was even the slightest possibility that Jack could help Sandra in any way, he had to do it. He couldn't let another child die.

Jack glanced down at his cell phone, wishing Anita would call back. Then he remembered that he hadn't given Anita his number. He was getting sloppy. He had been a fucking Colonel in the U.S. Air Force, and he was making stupid mistakes. When this ended, he was going to kick his own ass.

 _Think._ First priority, contacting Richard Zeeman, had been taken care of, at least as far as Jack could take it at this point. If Jack assumed that they were in the worst case scenario, in which Richard was totally out of touch, then the new priority became finding Sandra himself. All he had was her cell number.

Unless... Jack pushed the gas pedal down and floored it through a yellow light. He picked up his phone and dialled a number from memory.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Henry! It's Jack."

"Jack O'Neill? I haven't heard from you in ages, you son of a bitch! You okay? You sound strange."

"Yeah, it's just this stupid cell." Jack quickly checked over his shoulder before cutting across three lanes of traffic to make it to the exit. "I'm calling in my favour."

Henry was quiet for a minute. Jack prayed that his older self hadn't already called in the marker. "Look, Jack, I don't--"

"Henry, please."

"What can you want from me?" Henry asked, starting to sound suspicious. "You made General, that opens up a lot of doors."

Jack didn't stop to wonder who in the Air Force had been insane enough to promote Jack O'Neill to General. "This isn't exactly what you'd call part of the job, Henry."

"Fine, fine. Just, ah, remind me again of what I did to deserve this?" Henry's tone was joking, but he wasn't kidding around. Jack supposed he didn't blame the man's caution, but every second that ticked past was one more moment for the werewolves to kill Sandra.

"One, I saved your sorry ass on your wedding day with that whole 'forgetting the ring' thing." Jack pulled his car up in front of an all-night hardware store and killed the engine. "Two, I saved your sorrier ass with the general in Germany in that little AWOL incident."

"I wasn't AWOL," Henry protested. "I was..."

"Yeah, stuck in an air vent at a movie theatre, I know. Satisfied?" Jack glanced around as he headed into the store, but no one looked twice at a skinny teenager.

"Guess so. What can I do for you, Jack?"

"You still working telecom?"

"Sure am. Julie's going to kill me, but I'm here right now. Just finished cleaning up a major meltdown on the East Coast."

"Good." Jack stopped in front of the coils of rope. "I heard on TV a while ago that there's some kind of technology in the works that can track cell phones when they're powered down?"

There was a long silence on the phone. "Jack, what's this about?"

Jack checked the load on a thin black nylon rope. "You and I know that when the media get a hold of anything we do, that usually means it's already been around for years."

"It might."

"So if I gave you a cell number, you'd be able to find out where it is even if the phone's off?"

"No, Jack, you don't get this answer until you tell me why I'm doing this."

Jack grabbed the rope in one hand. "Henry--"

"No, I'm not jerking around anymore."

"I could order you to do it," Jack said.

"Like hell that'll work. I've been out for ten years."

"Henry--" Jack broke off. Once upon a time, he'd trusted Henry with his life. Could he afford to do the same thing with Sandra's life? He ran his thumb over the end of the rope, remembering the fear he'd heard in Sandra's voice.

"Can the games, O'Neill."

"It's my neighbor," Jack said. It wasn't technically a lie, and that was really what mattered. "His daughter, she's about sixteen, and he hasn't heard from her in a bit, and it's a bit of a rough crowd."

"Jesus, Jack, that's not--"

"She's Clarabelle's age," Jack interrupted. He felt ill, bringing up Henry's youngest girl. She and Charlie had played together when they were toddlers. "And he's got a really bad feeling about this and I told him I'd try to help."

"Damnit," Henry muttered under his breath. "Fine, O'Neill, but if this comes back to bite me in the ass... What's the number?"

Jack gave him Sandra's number. "This will work even if the phone's off?"

"As long as the battery's still in the phone, we can pinpoint them to within five feet," Henry told him.

"Is that even legal?"

"It's in the fine print of the contract."

"Bullshit."

"Shut up," Henry barked, his tone suddenly all business. "Got her. What the hell is going on, Jack?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this cell phone unit is at the northeast end of Castlewood State Park, miles outside of St. Louis in Missouri. Is this kid some kind of runaway?"

"No." Jack walked to a rack of maps, as fast as he could without drawing undue attention. "She's really not. Do you have coordinates on the phone?"

"Jesus, Jack, if she's Clarabelle's age, you tell her parents to call the police," Henry instructed. "Hell, call in the Feds. She's across state lines."

Jack almost asked Henry what he meant by that Feds crack, then he remembered that Old Jack was supposed to be stationed at Cheyenne Mountain. "Can you give me the exact location?" Jack asked as he shook open a state map and laid it on the beige floor.

"Yeah, give me a second." Muffled voices sounded on the other end of the line. "Crap, Jack, one of the routers crashed up in New York, I have to go. I'll email you the coordinates in five minutes."

"Henry, no--" Jack tried to keep his friend on the phone, but the line went dead. _Fuck!_ Henry would email them to the person he had thought he was talking to, Colonel Jack O'Neill. No, wait, now it was General Jack O'Neill and it was just as fucking useless.

Jack tried to focus. What did he have? He knew Sandra's phone was in the northeast section of Castlewood State Park . Jack examined the map. The park stretched over nearly five miles, a lot of it on steep terrain. He took a deep breath. It was a start.

Gathering up the map and his rope, Jack headed for the checkout. It had been years since he'd had to go into a fight without a gun or proper equipment. But he was Jack O'Neill. This was what he'd been trained to do.

Jack picked up a few more things on his way to the front counter. The clerk looked at him funny when he put down his armful. "A map, rope, wrapping paper and sports chalk?" She snapped her gum. "What are you going to do with a map, rope, wrapping paper and sports chalk?"

"I'm going to MacGyver myself a sports team."

The clerk pursed her lips. "Anyone ever tell you look like--"

"Every day of my life. Can you hurry?"

Insulted, the clerk snatched the cash out of Jack's hand and rang his purchases through without further comment. Jack noticed that she short-changed him, but he didn't have the time to care. He grabbed the bag off the counter and dashed out of the store.

The parking lot was sufficiently empty that Jack had no qualms about popping the trunk and grabbing the black duffle bag hidden under the mat. He opened the bag and checked the contents. Hunting knife, flares, duct tape, water, machete, field binoculars; everything was right where he had left it. He'd thought about including a pistol and some extra ammo in the bag, but couldn't figure out a way to buy a handgun legally. Plus, at the time, he had been able to delude himself that he wouldn't need a gun at high school.

 _No time for a gun._ Jack pushed back the fog in his head from a year of civilian living, and concentrated. Going after a group of werewolves with only a knife and some flares was an incredibly stupid idea, but he couldn't sit around and wait, hoping Richard Zeeman picked up his voicemail.

Jack grabbed the bag and slammed the trunk. He could do this thinking while driving. The clock was ticking on Sandra's life. Sliding in behind the steering wheel, Jack started the car with one hand and hit redial on his cell phone with the other. Even if Anita Blake's phone wasn't on, she was still his best bet to get the message to the cops on Sandra's location.

* * *

"How can you stand there so calmly?" Richard demanded. His beast was itching to get out, burning in his chest, and all Anita could do was load up her gun.

"Because, Richard, I need silver ammunition to kill the bad guys," Anita told him as she snapped the shotgun closed. "I thought you were familiar with the concept of firearms."

Richard gripped the back of a kitchen chair. "We can't stand around, we have to--"

"To what? We have no plan of attack, no idea what we're up against!" Anita interrupted. "What do we have? A letter taped to your door saying that someone has one of your students? We don't even know who did this!"

"I know!" Richard heard a loud crack, and the chair came apart in his hands. He kicked the chair across the room, narrowly missing Anita's wererat bodyguard, Claudia. The tall woman glared at him.

"Richard, would you calm the fuck down?" Anita demanded. "We'll figure this out!"

"How?" Richard asked again. He hated falling apart like this, but this wasn't a normal situation. His life as a werewolf was supposed to be separate from his life as a teacher. But now, enemies had broken through that line, kidnapping one of his students.

Richard was the Ulfric, head of the Thronnos Rokke clan, and he didn't know what to do.

It didn't help that Anita went automatically to her guns. Jamil and Shang-Da, Richard's bodyguards, were in the basement of Anita's house, gathering what weapons they could. Merle, one of Micah Callahan's bodyguards, was helping them, while Claudia stayed with Anita. Richard didn't want to bring in other types of lycanthropes. This was a werewolf problem, and he had to deal with it accordingly. Right?

There had never been a coalition of lycanthropes before, not in St. Louis, not anywhere. Richard had thought the working together was fine for the smaller groups, the weaker groups. But the werewolf pack was not weak, didn't need outside help in solving their problems. How could he change that now, bringing in wererats and wereleopards to help him?

The front door slammed shut. Richard caught the scent of vampire on the air before Jean-Claude entered the room, followed by Asher and Meng Die. "What the hell are you doing here?" Richard demanded.

"I called him," Anita said.

"What the hell for?"

"We need help!"

"This isn't a vampire problem!"

Jean-Claude held up his hand. "Is this a direct challenge?" The question was obviously rhetorical, as the vampire just kept on talking. "It is not. The pack is potentially in danger, and that is unacceptable. Ma petite, what has occurred since you called me?"

Anita concentrated on pushing silver bullets into a gun clip. "Not much. Sylvie took Jason and Graham to Richard's house to see if they could pick up any more scents, or clues as to who left the letter. Merle and Shang-Da and Jamil are downstairs loading up."

Claudia stirred against the far wall. "I spoke with Rafael. Any help the Ulfric needs, he can have."

"How understanding of your King," Asher said with a mocking undertone.

Claudia narrowed her eyes at the vampire. "The Rodere have a treaty with the werewolves, and we honor that covenant."

Asher fixed Claudia with an icy blue stare. "And the Rodere are nothing if not honourable."

"Asher." Jean-Claude's voice was soft, but the power pushed at everyone in the room. "Ma petite, what did the letter say? You were not clear in your message."

Anita looked at Richard. He shook his head, but walked across the kitchen to pick up the piece of paper he'd found on his front doorstep when he had arrived home from Sunday dinner with his parents. "Here," he said briefly, holding it out to Jean-Claude.

The vampire took the letter and brought it up to his face. "Werewolf," the vampire muttered, inhaling deeply. "Not one I recognise." He handed the paper to Meng Die.

Meng Die licked the edge of the paper, her pink tongue darting from between pale lips. From any other woman, the gesture would have been enticing, but Meng Die made it creepy. "I do not know this wolf," she said.

"It's not local," Richard said reluctantly. "I don't know who would do this. It doesn't make any sense. Not without a previous challenge, or something."

"Bad guys don't always play by the rules," Anita pointed out, as the basement door opened and the three bodyguards came out, carrying far too much weaponry. "And if they don't, we don't."

"What does that mean?" Richard asked.

Anita and Jean-Claude shared a look, and in spite of everything else that was happening, Richard felt an irrational surge of jealousy. Once upon a time, he had been the one Anita shared glances with. But that was lost now, and he would never get it back. Never have her back, the way it was before.

"It means that we will do whatever it takes to safeguard the pack," Jean-Claude answered. He looked up at Richard, such a dangerous expression on his face that Richard wondered how he ever could have thought Jean-Claude weak. "We protect what is ours."

Richard couldn't let it go. He'd fought too long to keep separate from the Triumvirate to let Jean-Claude in like this. "The pack isn't yours--"

"Richard." It was only one word from Jamil, but it stopped Richard in his tracks. "We haven't got time for this. If it was just Lukoi, I'd agree with you, but if they've got one of your students, there's no way we can hide this if it goes bad."

"That's what you think I'm worried about?" Richard exploded. "Hiding this if something goes wrong?" He stalked over to Jamil. "What would 'wrong' be, exactly? If one of my students get eaten? For the only reason that they're in my class?"

"I didn't say that." Jamil ducked his head in submission to Richard. "This isn't _us_ , this isn't the way we do things. Whoever's doing this isn't working by rules right now, they're not going to start any time soon." Jamil rolled his eyes up to meet Richard's gaze. "If we want to survive, we have to act accordingly."

"That means no hesitation, mon ami." Jean-Claude walked across the room to stand at Richard's side. "No rules." Richard felt a brush against his mind, private, locked far away from where Anita could hear. _No mercy._

Richard clamped down on his wolf, pushed back the hot animal desire to hunt and kill what would hurt those under his protection. He couldn't rush into this, not if he wanted to save whichever of his students was in danger.

And save them he would, then he would kill his enemies, drink of their blood and eat the flesh from their bones.

Anita eyed Richard and Jean-Claude, a frown on her face. Before she could say anything, Richard's cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

"It's Sylvie. We have another problem."

Richard's stomach dropped. Sylvie was at his house with Jason and Graham. Had the enemy wolves gotten to them? "What?"

"Do you know someone named Jack O'Neill?" Sylvie sounded more annoyed than anything, and the lump of tension in Richard's stomach eased a little.

"Why? Yes, I do, but why?"

"This was on your answering machine, listen." The phone crackled, then a tinny voice came through the speaker. " _Mr. Zeeman, it's Jack O'Neill, you really need to call me. It's about-- It's about Sandra, she's got some real bad family stuff going on right now, and it's really a lot like your situation so I thought you'd be able to help. You've got to call me as soon as you get this message, life and death and I am really not kidding around._ "

Richard swore under his breath.

"Richard?" Sylvie came back on the line. "What's this about?"

Richard pressed his hand against his eyes. "Sandra's a girl in one of my classes, and unless she's been turned since I saw her on Friday, I think she might be the one the wolves took."

"What about this Jack character?"

"Jack O'Neill is another one of my students." Richard raked his hand through his hair. "Although I have no idea how he's involved in this."

"Maybe he's involved with the other wolves?" Sylvie suggested.

"No, he's not," Richard said immediately.

"Fine. There's nothing else here, Richard. We're leaving."

"Be careful," Richard ordered his second-in-command as she hung up the phone.

Jean-Claude had a thoughtful expression on his face. "This is the boy who recently transferred to your class?"

"Why?"

Jean-Claude shrugged. "It does seem very convenient, that the new boy in your class is the one to inform you of the child's disappearance."

It took Richard a few moments to understand what Jean-Claude was driving at. "Are you nuts? Jack's not involved with these guys!"

"You do not know that."

"I do!" Even as he spoke, however, doubt pulled at Richard's mind. Jack had transferred at an odd time of the year. He didn't have any guardians, and there was that odd sensation that Richard had when he looked at Jack, that the boy was not what he appeared. "I don't think he'd have done anything like this."

"Regardless, it is possible that he is somehow involved," Jean-Claude said, brushing off Richard's words. "We now know the name of the student in peril."

"What good does that do us?" Asher suddenly asked. "We are no closer to knowing the location of these wolves."

"We'll figure something out," Anita said. She slid a gun into her shoulder holster.

"What if 'we' do not?" Asher pressed, looking directly at Richard.

"We will!" While she was speaking, Anita had pulled out her cell phone. "We'll figure it out, save the day, all that Pollyanna crap." She frowned at her phone.

"What?" Richard asked wearily. He wasn't sure that he could deal with any more problems.

"I missed two calls," Anita said. Her expression changed as she listened to the messages. "Why the hell did Jack O'Neill call me?"

Richard hurried across the room to Anita's side, putting his ear close to the phone to hear the familiar voice. " _...to get in touch with Richard Zeeman right away, it's important. I just got a call from Sandra, this girl in my class. She got grabbed by some werewolves and they're holding her. This one guy, he said that Richard Zeeman needs to open a letter they left at his house. Sandra didn't know where she was, but she said the car was blue with a rusty passenger door and no passenger-side mirror. They also said they were monitoring the emergency lines, so I didn't call the cops. Look, Sandra's just a kid. I don't care what Zeeman's deal is, but I officially do not care. Get her out of this._ "

"What the hell was that?" Anita asked.

"You said there was another message, right?" Richard's beast itched to get out, and it was with a great deal of effort that he held it in. "What does that one say?"

Anita hit a few more buttons on her phone. " _Blake, it's O'Neill again. I have this friend-- never mind. Look, Sandra's at the northeast end of Castlewood State Park. Call the police, just made sure that it's off the police scanner._ " The message broke for a moment. " _...don't know when you'll get this, so I'm going out there_."

That was the end of the message. "Is he insane?" Anita demanded. "A teenager against werewolves? What kind of twisted macho crap is this?"

"At least now we know Jack didn't have anything to do with this," Richard said, pressing his fists against the counter.

"Great, just great!" Anita threw up her hands. "So he didn't have anything to do with the wolves grabbing your student. He's still a teenager about to go wading into shit he doesn't have a hope of surviving!"

"Are we going to stay here all night listening to them argue?" Meng Die asked Asher, sounding terribly bored.

"No, we're not," Anita said. She glared at Meng Die. "We've got a location, we're moving out."

"What about the cops?" Merle said, speaking for the first time. "Anita, you going to call them in on this?"

Richard glanced around the room. Everyone was watching Anita, waiting for their cues from her. Even his wolves had their focus on her. "We'll call them after," Anita decided. She wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. "We go in and deal with this. It's easier if we don't have to worry about any humans getting caught in the crossfire."

"Except Sandra and Jack," Richard had to point out.

"Yes, Richard, except the two children." Anita grabbed one last weapon off the table. "Any more comment before we go?"

Claudia stepped forward. "Is this is? We're going in against an unknown number of werewolves with three vampires, three wolves, a leopard, a necromancer and a rat?"

Anita gave her a look. "With this group? We could take down small countries."

Claudia shrugged. "Just checking."

As Anita led the way out of the house, Richard rubbed his hand over his face. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was all going to go horribly wrong. If it had involved only lycanthropes... but it didn't only involve lycanthropes. Two of his students, children, had been dragged into this.

Jean-Claude was right. The enemy wolves had broken the rules of engagement by bringing human children into the mess. That meant Richard didn't have to show any hesitation. There would be no mercy for those who threatened the safety of those under his protection.

* * *

Jack crouched low in the bushes by the trail. It was almost pitch black, and even with his night vision it was tough going. He'd covered a lot of ground, but he hadn't found the werewolves' trail yet. The only sign he'd located was fresh tire tracks in the snow in the parking lot. The ridges in the snow hadn't melted, which made it likely that the marks were less than a day old.

He shifted his weight, mentally reviewing his gear. There was a knife taped under his pant leg and a length of rope looped around his belt. He'd considered bringing his machete, but he couldn't run with that thing on his back.

The flares in his coat pocket dug into his ribs as he stood up again. He didn't know why he'd brought the damned things, but they might be the only distraction he got.

Jack counted off his steps, looking around for any sign of recent passage. When he hit twenty, he pulled another piece of the cut-up silvery wrapping paper and stuck it to a tree, marking his trail in case he needed a quick escape. He'd considered that he might be leading the werewolves right to him, but it was the middle of winter in a snowy park. He was probably the only human who had walked through here in days. Picking up his scent would be easy for a werewolf.

 _Right. I get that this was a stupid idea,_ Jack told himself. _I've been up against worse._

Of course, he'd faced those "worse" bad guys with the rest of SG-1 at his side.

Twenty more steps. More wrapping paper. He repeated the pattern a dozen times, keeping track of how far he had gone. Miles behind him, and miles to go in the cold and the dark.

He had reached the halfway mark up the hill when he spotted the first sign. The faint moonlight couldn't hide the scuffs in the snow, the dirt kicked up. Jack knelt beside the marks. Ice hadn't had a chance to form on the fresh dirt. Jack scanned the area, and finally spotted a shoe print in the snow. Smaller than his own. He couldn't remember how big Sandra's feet were, but it was highly likely that this mark was from her shoes.

She'd been this way, and she'd been kicking.

Jack found a similar patch of kicked-up dirt a hundred yards up the hill. _Sandra's marking a trail,_ Jack realized. _Smart girl._

He followed the trail farther up the hill to the top of the ridge. A few times, he stopped to tie a length of thin black rope between two trees, half a foot above the ground. Numbers echoed in his brain, numbers of steps and distances traveled and trip lines and minutes to daylight. There was no room for second-guessing.

The cold air caused his breath to fog as he headed higher. He had to go slow, watching the ground, and it was the only thing that saved him from stepping in the middle of the bear trap.

Icy adrenaline spiked down his spine as he saw the familiar disturbed pattern of earth, the dirt slashing a scar on the snow. Someone had scattered dirt and leaves to hide the silver metal of the trap. The trap was big enough to snap a man's leg clean off.

He knew someone who had used bear traps on lycanthropes before, who had spread the dirt in just this way. It had been almost fifteen years since Bill Harris had been infected by those Russian werewolves. Fifteen years crumbled to yesterday as Jack stared at the trap.

Jack didn't understand. Bill Harris had been a good man, someone Jack would trust with his life. Could this be him? The military had discharged him, his wife had taken the kids and left. Bill had lost almost everything. Would that drive him to this?

Jack knew what it was like to lose almost everything. Charlie, Sara... and then, being cloned by Loki, being put into a teenager's body and being ripped away from the SGC and his team. He hadn't gone crazy and threatening to eat little girls.

This raised the stakes. Jack found a heavy rock and stepped back from the trap. He used all his anger to heave the rock onto the trap.

The trap jaws slammed shut with a violent crash.

The werewolves would probably have heard that. Jack had to move, had to find Sandra and get her out before this went any deeper.

The next trap was better hidden, but now that Jack knew what to look for, they were easier to spot. He tripped that trap with a big stick and kept moving, no longer bothering to mark his trail with fluttering bits of silver.

Wind picked up as Jack hurried silently over the frozen ground, blowing his scent away down the hill. The sound of the air rattled through the trees, almost masking the snap of a dead branch right behind him.

Jack froze. His knife was in its sheath under his jeans, out of reach.

Another soft crunching step on the snow.

Jack didn't bother to turn around. He ran, eyes on the ground. Someone ran after him, footsteps coming closer as they ran along the ridge.

Jack almost didn't spot the next trap in time. Without thinking, he gathered all his momentum and leaped over the trap. He landed safely on the other side, and kept going.

Something crashed into him, pushing him to the ground. The wind knocked out of him, Jack didn't have time to prepare for the fist that slammed against his head. Everything exploded into white stars, a supernova of pain, then black.

When he regained consciousness, his head ready to split open from the pain, Jack could taste metallic blood in his mouth. _Not good._

He made himself ignore the most damaging of the pain and tried to lift his head. Nausea washed over him, but he blinked it away.

"He's up."

Jack couldn't mistake the clipped voice. He turned his head and focused on Bill Harris, a dark shape against a tree.

"So he is." The other voice came from Jack's other side. It took him a moment to remember how to work his muscles, to turn his head to see the other man.

Slowly, Jack's vision cleared. There were three men in the darkness. Bill was on one side of Jack, the nameless speaker on the other side. Across the small clearing, the third man stood by a rock as if he was guarding something. Something moved, and a flash of white turned towards him. Sandra.

Jack crooked her a grin. "How you doing?" he asked, ignoring the werewolves.

"I'm okay," she said. Her teeth chattered, but her voice was strong and angry. "What about you?"

"Just great. Me and head injury go together like... things that go together." Concentrating was more difficult than normal, but Jack was going to blame that on the head injury and the cold. While he'd been passed out, someone had taken his jacket. _Assholes_.

The unfamiliar werewolf by Jack's side kicked him in the ribs. "Why are you here?" he asked, kicking again.

Jack breathed around the pain in his ribs. _Please don't let them be broken._ "Dude, you've got my friend," he said, giving Sandra a glance. "What was I going to do? You told me not to call the cops."

The werewolf grabbed Jack by the throat and lifted him into the air, choking. He clutched at the man's hand, struggling for air. Blackness pulled heavily at him, making his hands too heavy to lift. Just before it all faded out, the man let Jack go and he fell to the ground.

Oh, glorious oxygen. Jack forced his eyes open as he sucked in air, watched the man looming over him. "You missed a spot," Jack gasped.

The man crouched down over Jack's legs. "You think this is a game?" he growled. "I will eat you alive, boy." He looked over his shoulder at Sandra, then back at Jack. "Or maybe I'll have a little fun first."

Jack swallowed painfully. There was no way in hell he was letting this monster anywhere near Sandra. "You want fun?" Jack croaked. "I can give you fun."

The werewolf snorted. "We don't play that way, pretty boy."

 _And yet you call me pretty._ Jack managed to hold his tongue on the obvious comment. "You only need one of us, right?" While he spoke, he looked around the site. His jacket was draped over a rock, beside a box of equipment. Even in the dark, Jack could see the distinctive outline of a sniper rifle. His day was looking up. "How about you let me go?"

The werewolf cocked his head. "How about I eat you now?"

"Wouldn't it be more fun to chase me down?"

Bill Harris slowly walked around. He stared down at Jack, a confused expression on his face. _Please don't recognize me,_ Jack thought. _Not yet._

The werewolf on top of Jack stood. "You think you can get out of this alive?" he spat. "You will die for this."

"Better die running, then." Jack climbed to his feet. A wave of dizziness and nausea rushed over him, but he didn't fall. "How about you give me a three minute head-start?"

The werewolf leaned in. His breath smelled like rotting meat, and Jack's stomach lurched. "Thirty seconds."

"Frank!" Bill exclaimed. "We're in the middle of an operation, if we deviate from the plan--"

Frank the werewolf snarled at Bill. "This is my game," he spat. "If I say we play..." He turned back to Jack, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. "We play."

Jack glanced at Sandra. She looked scared and angry. Jack only hoped that Anita Blake and Richard Zeeman were on their way with the cavalry, and soon. Otherwise, he would be dead.

Frank leaned in to Jack, feral delight on his face. "Run."


	6. Chapter 6

"Run."

 _Thirty seconds._

Jack turned on his heel and sprinted towards his jacket. The part of his brain that dealt with things like _right_ and _wrong_ had turned off, leaving him with one thought -- survival. Jack had been a solider for most of his life, and under the uniform and the medals, he was like all soldiers. Defeat the enemy. Protect what is yours. Survive.

Grabbing the jacket was easy, and the cold weight of the sniper rifle snapping into his hand was like coming home. Jack ignored the shouting behind him and put all of his energy into running as fast as he could, out of the clearing and into the woods.

 _Twenty-five seconds._

The werewolves might not wait, but Jack knew men like Frank, power-hungry and single-minded, cold in their planning but hot in anger. They would come after him before they attacked Sandra. He had to hold on to that thought, but still, he half-expected to hear Sandra screaming.

 _Twenty seconds._

Down a small slope and over a log. Still running, Jack grabbed the flares out of his jacket pocket and dropped the coat to the wayside. He shoved the flares into a pocket of his cargo pants as best he could while running up a rocky hill.

 _Fifteen seconds_.

With one hand free, Jack reached into his left hip pocket and pulled out a handful of chalk powder, tossing it over the ground. In the dark, the chalk disappeared into the snow, but Jack hoped that the tracking wolves might get a noseful of the chalk, enough to buy him another few seconds.

 _Ten seconds_.

Finally, Jack spotted what he had been looking for, a thick tree that rose straight and tall above the hillside. Jack skidded to a halt and draped the rifle's neck strap across his back, then undid his belt and yanked it free from his waistband.

 _Five seconds_.

Ignoring the pounding in his head, the nausea that threatened to overtake him, Jack threw his leather belt around the tree trunk and climbed, the jittery edge of adrenaline giving him enough strength to get up the impossibly straight tree.

 _Time's up_.

The belt gave out just as Jack reached the branches. Cursing, Jack grabbed for the nearest branch, his fingers wrapping around the cold bark. Ignoring the pain in his ribs, Jack hauled himself up and up, until he was solidly braced in the tree.

Wedging his foot against the thickest branch he could find, Jack swung the rifle around and examined it in the faint moonlight. To his surprise, it wasn't a traditional sniper rifle at all. It had been modified to take a different ammunition. Jack slid the cartridge out, expecting to find bigger bullets, like cop killers.

"Tranquilizer rounds?" he said out loud, holding the cartridge in the moonlight. The rounds were marked as Russian military. Jack didn't want to know how Bill Harris had gotten his hands on Russian tranks.

Still, if the werewolves had brought these to a fight, where they expected Zeeman to show up, the tranks would probably take out werewolves. Not having any other option, Jack slid the cartridge back into the rifle.

Up in the tree, Jack had a perfect line of sight to the clearing. Sighting down the sniper-scope, Jack could make out Sandra's huddled form and the guarding werewolf pacing back and forth. There was no one else in sight, which meant Jack probably had two werewolves after him in the woods. Perfect.

His hands numb from the cold, Jack followed the werewolf in the scope, waiting until he was three feet away from Sandra. Saying a quick, directionless prayer, Jack fired the rifle.

The werewolf jerked, grabbing at his chest where the tranquilizer dart had hit him, then slowly crumpled to the ground. Jack had no way of knowing if an overdose of the drug would be fatal, but at that point, Sandra's life took precedent. Not willing to take a chance, Jack fired another round into the man.

Suddenly, the tree shook. Jack barely had time to grab onto a branch to stop himself from falling, but in the confusion, the rifle toppled to the ground. The tree shuddered again, with a loud cracking of wood.

 _They're going to push the tree over,_ Jack realized. The next blow knocked the tree several degrees to the left, and then it was only a matter of time and gravity, as the wood of the old tree's trunk splintered in slow motion, dropping Jack slowly toward the ground.

A distant howl rose up through the cold air, menacing and angry. An answering howl immediately sounded from somewhere on the ground, almost under Jack's feet, and then moving away into the woods.

As much as Jack hoped that there had been only one werewolf after him, he doubted that he was that lucky. Would both Bill and Frank have gone chasing after that distant werewolf? Doubtful. Jack didn't know a damned thing about Frank, other than that the werewolf was a fucking psychopath, but he did know Bill, and Bill would not have left a potential danger alone.

Of the two, Jack didn't want to face Bill alone. He'd been the one to train Bill, and he knew what a dangerous man Bill truly was.

The tree's descent stopped abruptly. Looking around wildly in the dark, Jack realized that the top of the tree had lodged against a rock outcropping.

Another blow hit the base of the tree. Jack held back the urge to swear. Someone had stayed behind at the tree. Just Jack's fucking luck. Gripping the branches over his head with one hand, Jack fumbled for one of the flares in his pocket. He hooked his arm around the branch and squeezed his eyes closed tight. What he wouldn't give for a military-issue flare right then.

Even with his eyes closed and his hands frozen, Jack managed to light the flare. He lobbed the flare in the direction of the werewolf, then unhooked his arm from the tree and let gravity take him.

He landed on a patch of frozen ground, sharp rocks cutting through his pants and into his skin. The momentary pain shot through his leg, making him think, _not the knees, not again_ before he was tackled from behind.

The impact drove him back onto the rocks, but that didn't explain the slashing pain down his back. Jack kicked and twisted, letting decades of training take over, and he managed to get out from under his assailant for a few moments, long enough for him to reach down to his ankle.

The werewolf loomed over him, backlit by the moon. Irrational fear crashed down on Jack's chest _monster going to eat me_ before the rational side of his brain told him that it was indeed Bill Harris standing over him, although his hands had transformed into long, killing claws.

Bill raised his claws, but hesitated. "What the... Jack??" he demanded, recognizing Jack at last.

In a TV show, this would have been the moment of long explanations and reconciliation. But his life wasn't a show, and this wasn't a game, and Jack yanked his hunting knife out of the ankle sheath as he kicked out hard, driving his feet into Bill's knee. The crack of bone drowned out the man's cry as he collapsed. Jack was on him the next second, driving his knife directly into Bill's eye. He kept pushing until the six-inch blade was stopped by bone.

Bill collapsed like a puppet with his strings cut.

Something crashed through the bushes. Jack grabbed the handle of his knife and jerked it free of Bill's head, blood and thicker things coating the blade. Standing up nearly killed him, but Jack turned to face the noise, back ripped up and legs bleeding. He wasn't going to die without a fight.

A half-shifted werewolf stopped on the edge of the clearing. Jack couldn't tell if it was Frank, come back to finish the job. He raised the knife, waiting for the wolf to bring the fight to him.

After a long moment, the werewolf backed up slowly, then turned and ran off in the other direction. Jack couldn't even come up with an appropriately witty retort. He lowered the knife, suddenly feeling every one of his fifty-plus years.

Wanting nothing more than to curl up and pass out, Jack made himself wipe his knife on Bill's pant leg. He took one last look at the dead man, then picked up the rifle, knife still in hand. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, to walk with the rifle braced against his body with one hand and knife in the other, but Jack wasn't taking any chances. Frank the werewolf was still out there, and whoever the hell had stared him down in the clearing.

Steeling himself for the hike back to the clearing, Jack set out to find Sandra.

* * *

Richard backed away from the bloody Jack O'Neill and the dead werewolf. Part of him wanted to know how a kid like Jack could take out a werewolf with a hunting knife, but now was not the time. Richard had to find the other werewolf, the one whose scent hung in the air of the clearing.

Jamil and Shang-Da hadn't wanted Richard to go off on his own, but once they arrived at the park, Richard had to know if his students were okay. He and the bodyguards had tracked Jack's scent for a while, past the sprung bear-traps, past the scuffed earth, the Ulfric's anger growing with every passing moment. But it wasn't until they'd run Jack's scent to the ground, heavy scuff marks on the ground and Jack's blood still drying on the rock, that Richard had lost it.

These werewolves had attacked children under _his_ protection! They threatened _his_ pack, _his_ city! He was the Ulfric of the Thronnos Rokke clan and he would not let these intruders get away with their lives.

He had flung his head back and howled in angry challenge, letting out his rage and anger. He hadn't expected to hear a response to his challenge, and it made his anger burn hotter.

Richard had flung himself off into the darkness, leaving Jamil and Shang-Da, still in their human forms, in the dust. He ran silently and fast, knowing he might be too late for Jack and Sandra.

He hadn't expected to find one of the werewolves dead and Jack victorious. But the other werewolf was nowhere to be found, and the challenge still hung heavy in the air.

Richard turned his back on Jack, and ran.

The werewolf's scent was easy to track in the still air, and he was moving fast. Richard trailed after him, pausing to investigate a break in the trail, when the marks between him and Anita flared to life _panic fear anger fear_ and Anita was screaming at him to hurry the fuck up as she stared down the barrel of her gun at a rampaging werewolf.

Richard screamed in rage, running even faster. This _animal_ threatened his children, threatened his pack, and was now threatening his Lupa!

He felt a matching rage in his head, colder than the grave, as shots rang out. Jean-Claude had heard Anita's panicked call, and was almost to her side.

Almost.

Not quite.

More shots.

Richard burst into the clearing, blood and gore painted black under the harsh light of the moon. Claudia lay bleeding on her side, Merle crumpled against a tree, while Anita had been backed against a large rock with nowhere to go.

The vampires swooped in then, Jean-Claude and Asher and Meng Die surrounding the werewolf. Jean-Claude's power crashed across the clearing, driving the werewolf to his knees momentarily. That moment was all Richard needed. Jean-Claude had been right. This wasn't a challenge, or a normal werewolf fight with rules and boundaries and an end.

This was war. This was survival.

Richard was on top of the werewolf in a moment, claws ripping into flesh, teeth sinking into the wolf's throat and clamping down. Using all of his strength, Richard ripped out the wolf's throat, swallowing the flesh and blood of his enemy.

The Thronnos Rokke clan was victorious.

* * *

The rising howls and wolf-calls from various parts of the forest weren't calming Jack's nerves. He'd managed to find his jacket, lying crumpled on the ground, but couldn't make himself put it on. He was getting used to the cold, which probably meant he was starting to get hypothermia. Coupled with the blood-loss, he knew he wasn't thinking straight.

The last time he'd been this cold and still moving around, it had been with Carter in the Antarctic. Fuzzily, Jack wondered if he could give Sam-- no, still Carter, a call and ask her how she was doing.

 _"Save any COs from certain death recently, Carter?"_

Jack tripped on a rock and fell heavily to the ground. The rifle clattered down beside him, and Jack only narrowly missed slicing into his face with the knife.

He could still see Bill's blood on the blade, feel the grinding of the metal past bone, into grey matter.

Jack let out a soft pant that might have been grief or anger, but he made himself blame it on the nausea. "Get up, O'Neill, get up!" he told himself as he heaved himself back onto his feet. The mission wasn't over.

Somehow, Jack made himself stagger back into the clearing. The unconscious werewolf still lay on the ground, unmoving, but Sandra was nowhere to be seen.

Jack tightened his grip on the rifle. "Sandra?" he called, looking around. Had something carried her off?

After a moment, a flash of white poked out from around a rock. "Jack?" Sandra said shakily. "What's happening?"

"Just... stuff," Jack said, almost tripping as he knelt by the werewolf's body. He felt for a pulse, and was relieved to find the soft, shallow pounding in the man's artery. He had only killed one man that night.

"Jack?"

Jack sat back on his heels. "It's going to be okay, Sandra," he promised. The words might have sounded a little more authoritative if he hadn't been slurring his words so badly. He shook his head, then waited out the roiling of his stomach. "You cold?"

"Of course, you jerk." Her voice was wobbling, tears thick, but still she stood there staring down at him. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," he lied. "Here, put this on."

She looked as if she was going to protest, but remained silent as she slid her arms into Jack's coat.

"Good." He made sure the rifle was okay, then handed it to her. "Aim this at that asshole there. He moves, you shoot him."

"Are you sure?" Sandra asked. "I've never fired a gun before."

"It's a tranquilizer gun, you'll be fine," Jack said. He pulled her over to the rocks. "Put your back here, and brace the rifle against your leg."

"Why can't we leave?" Sandra asked as she let Jack position the rifle butt against her shoulder.

Jack took a shallow breath. "We just need a little more time."

With Sandra settled, he moved across the clearing to the equipment box. The rifle had been the easiest to grab, but now that Jack had the time to dig, he was rewarded. Hidden in the box were enough firearms to take over a small city. Jack selected a handgun and a replacement clip. He checked the ammunition on his way back over to Sandra's side. Sure enough, the bullets were silver.

Fleetingly, Jack wondered if the Goa'uld would be stopped by silver bullets.

"Now what?" Sandra asked, never taking her eyes off the prone werewolf.

"Now we wait for the cavalry to roll in." Jack scanned the darkness, gun held loose in his hands.

"Okay." Sandra was quiet for a long time, long enough for the blood on Jack's back to start freezing. "My dad's going to kill me for being out so late."

Jack snorted. "I think getting kidnapped by crazy werewolves is a good enough excuse." He took his eyes off the darkness long enough to look at Sandra. "Did they tell you why they grabbed you?"

"No." Sandra sniffled. "They were making some kind of noise about my teacher, but what the hell was that about?"

"Don't know." Jack frowned into the darkness. Had something moved? "Shh."

Jack raised the gun at the shadows. Slowly, as if in a stupid horror movie, a figure drifted out of the darkness. A man, a stranger to Jack. The man had long black hair and impossibly pale skin, slashed bloody through his once-white shirt. He certainly wasn't dressed like a cop or a rescuer.

Jack didn't know what this man was, but he was more than half tempted to shoot him on principle.

Then the man called over his shoulder, "They are here, _ma petite_."

Someone limped around the man, and Jack put the gun down in surprise. It was Anita Blake, looking like she'd just gone ten rounds with a werewolf.

Anita stopped, taking in the scene. She shook her head. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded as two other strangers came up on either side of her.

Jack put the safety back on the gun, feeling the adrenaline slowly starting to leave his limbs. "You know. Same old."

Then the nausea and pain overtook him, and Jack crawled to the side to throw up. He managed to hold onto consciousness for long enough for someone to put a jacket over his back and guide him to the side so he didn't pass out in a pool of his own vomit.

Sometimes, he fucking hated his life.


	7. Chapter 7

As Jack slowly gained consciousness, he was aware of the scent of industrial-washed sheets smushed up against his nose, and an uncomfortable puddle of drool on his pillow. He tried to move his head, to roll onto his back, but the shooting pain in his shoulder put the kibosh on that idea.

"They don't even have the good Jell-O here."

The way-too-familiar voice made Jack open his eyes. It took him a minute to focus on the other person in the room. He groaned. "I'm delusional."

"Probably." The other Jack O'Neill, the older one, dressed in that old leather jacket that Jack wished he had snagged before bolting from Colorado Springs, continued to spoon Jell-O out of a plastic cup. "George says hi, by the way."

Jack tried to swallow. His mouth felt like it was coated in sandpaper. "How long was I out?"

"A day." Old Jack switched to the sandwich on the hospital tray. "Head injury."

Jack swallowed. "Concussion?" Old Jack nodded. "Great. My first, all over again."

"I remember my first concussion," Old Jack said fondly.

"So do I." Jack grabbed hold of the side of the bed and heaved himself into something resembling a sitting position. "Why are you here?"

Old Jack shrugged. "Technically, since you're made of me, then I was really here the whole time, right?"

Jack stared.

"And I got Henry's email."

Right. The coordinates of where Henry had tracked Sandra's cell phone.

Old Jack pointed a finger at Jack. "I was saving that favor, you know. Henry's got box season tickets to the game."

"You want box seats? I'll buy you a box." Jack took mental stock of his situation. He didn't feel like he could move very fast, after having lain immobile for several hours. Other than the pounding in his head and the slicing pain in his shoulder, he thought he was okay. His knees survived an experimental flex without even a twitch.

The joking expression left Old Jack's face. "I pulled in an SGC doctor for this."

"You _what?_ " Jack wanted to sit up all the way, but the pain in his back made him settle for a glare. "What the hell did you do that for?"

"Hey, you're the one who grown in an alien test tube. There might be... stuff."

"You mean complications." Jack closed his eyes. He thought they had been done with this, after Thor healed his dying immune system. "Great."

"We'll know soon. Plus, there's the werewolf thing."

"The doctors told you that?" Jack gave Old Jack a suspicious look. "Who did you tell them you were?"

"Your uncle." Old Jack went back to his sandwich. "They bought it, something about the family resemblance."

"Well, I was looking pretty beat up when I came in here."

"Hey."

"Whatever." Jack closed his eyes and wished he had some of the SGC's more pleasant painkillers.

The chair shifted on the linoleum, a soft familiar sound. How many times could Jack remember sitting beside the hospital bed of one of his team while they were injured? "The police identified the two werewolves in the woods."

Two? Jack wondered what had happened to the third psycho one. Hopefully, someone had taken care of him. "Bill Harris was one," Jack said quietly. "The dead one."

"Yeah." Old Jack leaned his elbows on his knees. "I pulled his file. He's been doing mercenary stuff for the past decade, nothing big that he got nailed for."

"Go big or go home," Jack muttered. "Do you know why he did it?"

"No." Old Jack shook his head. "He used to be a good man. Until he was infected. His ex said that it was like he lost everything, and he just went weird."

"He didn't lose everything," Jack said in clipped tones. He didn't let himself say what he was thinking, that at least Bill had lived, that his kids were fine, that his wife was fine. That whatever Bill had done, wasn't out of loss.

The silence grew in the room as Jack tried to figure out why his clone was really there. The SGC didn't think he'd caused a security breech, did they? In whatever form, he was Jack O'Neill, not some inexperienced teenager.

"How's SG-1?" Jack finally asked, unable to stand the quiet. "They still fine?"

"Yeah." Old Jack leaned his chair back on two legs. "Most of it's classified, but they're all alive."

"Great." Jack eyed the older man. "So, General?"

Old Jack looked faintly embarrassed.

"A desk job," Jack said, shaking his head. "Lame."

"I guess they figured it would keep me off the streets," Old Jack said. "Speaking of which, the police want to talk to you."

"What for?"

"That girl's kidnapping, one dead werewolf, and why you didn't call the cops in the first place." Old Jack rocked the chair. "That Federal Marshall's been in here a couple of times, too. She's pretty pissed."

Jack sighed. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

"The girl's parents came by." Old Jack suddenly became very interested in his watch. "She's saying you saved her life, and they wanted to say thanks."

"So Sandra's okay?"

"A bit cold and a lot angry. She reminds me a little of Carter." Old Jack raised an eyebrow. "So, you and her?"

Jack refused to think about how his clone made that little mental connection. "No, she's just a kid," he protested. "And, she's got a boyfriend, some little punk with funky hair."

"Uh huh."

Jack wished there was something he could throw. "You're a dirty old man."

"Whatever. Hey," Old Jack said, raising an eyebrow. "George mentioned something about you going back into the Air Force?"

"What about it?" Jack snapped.

"Really?"

Even though it had been over a day, Jack could still feel the grind of metal against bone against his hand as he killed Bill. Did he really want to go back to that life? He had the memories of the Air Force life, of saving the world. His clone would get to retire soon, couldn't he?

He was just tired of saving the world, even if the world was just one scared teenager in the woods.

"Maybe," Jack said, picking at the blanket. "We'll see."

Old Jack drew a breath, and Jack could just imagine the speech. Hell, he'd know what he'd say. _Suck it up, the world needs every soldier it can get in the fight against the Goa'uld._ But then Old Jack just shrugged. "Been to the St. Louis Arch?" was all he asked.

Jack's confused glaring was interrupted when a vaguely familiar doctor came into the room. Since Jack had never been to hospital in St. Louis, it had to be the SGC doctor.

"Hello, General O'Neill, Mr. O'Neill." The doctor gave Jack a happy smile. Jack found he was smiling back. Now he remembered her, she had started working in the infirmary just before the little cloning incident. "Good news."

"I'm all for good news," Jack said, still smiling. So sue him. He was a teenager, no longer in the chain of command in the Air Force, and the doctor was pretty hot.

"I had a blood sample sent to the base for testing," the doctor said. "With your past medical history, there was a question of if your immune system was up to the task of healing your injuries."

"And?"

The doctor brandished a piece of paper. "And the results were interesting. Have you been sick at all?"

Too experienced at strange questions from doctors, Jack didn't blink as he said, "Recently? Not really."

"I mean at all. Since your... since you left the base."

Jack frowned as he thought about that. "Not that I can think."

The doctor nodded. "There are traces in your bloodstream of antibodies to pneumonia, recent traces. The levels are at the point where it is as if you had just gotten over an illness, but as you said, you haven't been sick." She turned the page over. "The same thing with the lycanthropic infection."

"So I'm not infected?" Jack demanded. True, he hadn't really had a chance to think about what it meant to have been clawed up by a werewolf, but still...

The doctor glanced over her shoulder at the open door, and lowered her voice. "It appears that the same genetic manipulation that existed to prevent Loki from creating a proper clone, is also at work in preventing the lycanthropic virus from infecting you. At the heart of it, the way the lycanthropic virus works is by rewriting your DNA. It appears that your DNA cannot be changed like that."

"Huh," both Jacks said at once.

Jack gave his clone a look. "And they didn't figure that out with you?"

"How often do I get in a fight with a lycanthrope?"

"Oh!" Jack snapped his fingers. "But I wonder what else Thor was up to. If lycanthropy is out, what else might Loki have been doing?"

"Why would Loki have anything to do with werewolves?" Old Jack looked doubtful, but Jack suspected he was on to something.

"Actually, he's not far off," came a voice from the doorway. The doctor spun around as Old Jack let his chair fall to the ground with a thump. Anita Blake moved into the room slowly, her arms crossed over her chest. "There's a wealth of mythology surrounding werewolf lycanthropy that says that the Norse god Loki had a hand in cursing humans with werewolfism. All myths, of course."

"Of course." Jack was mildly amused at the panic on the doctor's face. "How're things?"

"Fine." Anita narrowed her eyes at Jack. "So, you want to tell me what possessed you to go into the woods after a pack of werewolves on your own?"

Jack shook his head, then regretted the movement as the stitches in his back pulled. "Not particularly."

Old Jack stood up. "I've got to call George with the good news," he said. "I also need to get back to Washington."

"Thanks for coming," Jack said, and was surprised to realize that he meant it.

Old Jack nodded. "You did good out there." He hesitated, fidgeted a bit. "I'll call you sometime?"

"Sure."

Old Jack gestured at the doctor, and together they left the room. Anita watched Old Jack as he left. There was a frown on her face as she turned back to Jack.

"Who was that?" she demanded.

"An uncle."

"An--" She broke off as a man Jack had never seen walked into the room. "Zerbrowski."

"Blake." The man nodded at Jack. "Jack O'Neill? I'm Detective Zerbrowski. I'm with the Regional Preternatural Investigation Taskforce."

Jack didn't say anything. The man knew damned well who he was.

"I'm here to talk to you about what happened yesterday."

Perfect. "I'm recovering from a head injury," Jack said.

"I know that." Zerbrowski sat in the chair vacated by the other Jack, settling in for the long haul. "But we need to get all the details of what happened, in case there's something we missed."

"Zerbrowski--"

"Blake, can it," Zerbrowski interrupted. "You're about this close to me telling you to wait in the hall, got it?"

Anita glared at Zerbrowski, anger written clearly on her face. Jack wondered what had happened while he was out. Looked like the police weren't too happy with Anita.

"So, Jack." Zerbrowski turned his back on Anita. "Let's hear it. For starters, how did you find Sandra's location?"

Not really seeing a way around the situation, Jack sighed. "I went out for a run on Sunday afternoon. When I got back, I got a call from Pete, Sandra's boyfriend."

"What time?" Zerbrowski interjected.

Jack cast his mind back. "I'm not sure, around four? It was starting to get dark. The call's logged in my phone, I can look it up if you want."

"Maybe later. Go on."

"Yeah, so, Pete's wondering if I had heard from Sandra, because she didn't show up to her job and she wasn't answering her phone. I said no, but something in what he said got me a little worried. So I went to the library to see if she was okay."

"How did you know she was at the library?"

"Pete told me." Jack shifted in place on the bed. His back hurt like hell. "And Sandra mentioned something about doing homework in that library. It's not in the best part of town."

"And why did Pete call you?"

"I'm not sure." In all the excitement, Jack hadn't thought about it. "Maybe he was calling everyone he knew. Maybe he was worried about his girl."

"Hey, it's okay." Zerbrowski concentrated on writing something in his notebook. "Just go on. What happened next?"

Jack shook his head. "I got to the library, looked around, found some of Sandra's stuff scattered on the ground. I was going to call her old man or something, when Sandra called me."

"Sandra called you?"

"Yeah, she called me. If you don't believe me, ask her. Hell, check the phone records!"

"I'm not saying I don't believe you. I just wanted to be clear."

"Then are we clear?" Jack's temper was rising, fueled by the pain in his back, and it was all he could do to hold his reaction down. "I'm not making this up."

"Go on."

Jack spared a glance at Anita, standing silent by the wall. "So, Sandra calls and she's freaking out. She tried calling her folks but the line was busy, you know? She told me where she was and then one of the psychos who grabbed her took the phone and told me that if I called the cops they'd know and kill her."

"Then what?"

After so many years in Black Ops and the Stargate program, lying came easily to Jack. Skipping over the part about Richard, Jack said, "I didn't want to call 911, so I called Anita. She's a Federal Marshal, right? She'd know a way to keep the news off the lines."

"And how did you get Anita's number?" Zerbrowski asked.

"I called her office and the secretary gave it to me."

Zerbrowski flipped back in his notebook. "According to the secretary, you said that the reason you needed to speak with Anita had to do with Richard Zeeman, one of your teachers. Right?"

Jack could feel Anita's glare on him. "So? I knew they used to be engaged, I figured that it was my only way to get the number," he said. "What else did I have? I wasn't exactly running on a lot of options."

"So it didn't actually have anything to do with Mr. Zeeman."

"Not a damned thing." The pain in Jack's head pounded slightly out-of-time with his heartbeat, making an annoying echo. "But Anita's phone was off so I left a message and went to see if I could help Sandra myself."

"And you thought that messing with a girl's life was a good idea how?" Zerbrowski demanded, all trace of lightness gone. "How the hell did you know exactly where Sandra was?"

The accusation filtered through the haze of pain in Jack's head, and he felt himself go cold. "She told me she was in the park," he said through clenched teeth. "I went there and tracked her down."

"You tracked werewolves and a girl through a snowy park in the dark."

"My dad used to take me tracking when I was a kid. It's not the kind of thing you forget," Jack said. "I found them, and things kind of went to hell."

Zerbrowski closed his notebook. "Sandra said you distracted one of the werewolves and started some fucked up game of chase in the woods."

"Yeah, well, he was talking about having a little fun with Sandra, and I'm not talking about dolls and a tea party," Jack said. He rubbed the side of his head, wincing as his fingers brushed over a tender bruise.

"And then there's the matter of one of the dead werewolf," Zerbrowski continued.

Jack brushed a piece of lint off his blanket. "I refuse to continue this line of questioning without my attorney present," he said, not letting the jump of adrenaline sound in his voice. How could he have been so stupid? Of course they'd connect Bill Harris's death to him. He'd had blood on his hands and on his knife, which they had probably tested. It had been self defense, but how could he explain shooting the other werewolf with the tranquilizer gun?

"You're not being charged with anything," Zerbrowski said.

"I refuse to continue this line of questioning without my attorney present," Jack repeated. "If I'm not being charged, then there's no reason to continue this."

"All I'm doing is looking for information," Zerbrowski continued. "We're trying to put together the picture of what happened, to see if anyone got away. Sandra said there were three men involved, but we only found two, the dead man in the forest and the unconscious one in the clearing with Sandra."

Jack thought back to the mass of people in the woods, Anita and the half-shifted werewolf that hadn't eaten him, and the weird man in the fancy shirt. Whatever happened to Frank the werewolf, Jack was willing to bet good money that he hadn't made it out of those woods. "I have no idea what happened to him. I was with Sandra when Marshall Blake found us."

"Can you tell me exactly what knocked out the man that was guarding Sandra?"

"I refuse to continue this line of questioning without my attorney present."

"Would it have anything to do with how well you knew how to handle the tranquilizer gun that you gave Sandra?"

"I refuse to continue this line of questioning without my attorney present."

"Jack, I'm trying to help you."

"And I refuse to continue this line of questioning without my attorney present."

Zerbrowski pocketed his notebook and stood. "Fine. Call a lawyer and we'll talk. Whatever you might think, Jack, we're not trying to nail you for anything. All I want to do is make sure that this sick bastard isn't going to go after any more children."

Jack believed him. He was a good judge of character, and he believed that this cop was a good man, someone who wanted to protect people. And honestly, if Jack thought Frank had gotten away, he'd have spilled the story and let the Air Force clean up the mess.

Zerbrowski pulled a card out of his pocket. "You call me once you get this lawyer and we'll set up a meeting. Don't wait too long."

Jack took the card, fighting to not show the resultant pain from lifting his arm. "I'll be there. Donuts and coffee, right?"

Zerbrowski refused to rise to the bait. "Mr. O'Neill. Blake." With that, Zerbrowski left the room.

Anita let out a slow breath. "He's usually a lot nicer than that," she said.

"What, to suspects or to you?" Jack snapped. "What did you do to piss the cops off like that?" A look of guilt passed over Anita's face, almost too quick to see. "Oh, man, you didn't call the cops after I called you, did you?"

Anita didn't answer.

Jack lowered himself to the bed. "Whatever. Can you go away now so I can weep in privacy and maintain a little of my manly pride?"

"What the hell possessed you to go into the woods alone?" Anita burst out. "With a knife and a handful of chalk powder?"

Jack doubted that Anita and Zerbrowski had planned some kind of good-cop-bad-cop thing, but he couldn't risk it. Besides, he was only half-kidding about the weeping part. "I told Zerbrowski the whole story."

"Except the part about calling Richard?"

"Would you like to call Zerbrowski back and explain that to him?" Jack shot back. "Hey, yeah, so the reason the freaks were after Sandra and the reason I called Anita was because my teacher is secretly a werewolf? Perfect idea."

Anita paled. "You wouldn't."

Jack propped himself up on one elbow and stared at Anita. She was really worried that he might do that, might give Zeeman up. "Do you honestly think I told that story if I was going to pull Mr. Zeeman out of the furry closet?" he asked.

Anita shook her head, hair falling over her face. "Teaching means a lot to Richard," she finally said.

"Well, whatever. He can keep it up for all I care." Jack laid down. "Can you go away now?"

Anita pushed herself off the wall. "What you did out there was pretty stupid," she said.

"And take the pep talk with you."

"Right." Anita gave Jack one last look, opened her mouth as if to say something else, then left the room.

The fact that Anita hadn't asked about Frank the Werewolf told Jack all he needed to know about the psycho's fate. As he groped blindly for the nurse call button, it occurred to him that he was going to have to take Major Davis up on that offer for help.

 _Damn it._

* * *

"So everything will continue on as it has before, with all our various secrets in place?" Jean-Claude asked, leaning back on his silk-covered bed.

Richard glared at the vampire. "Nothing's all right!" he exclaimed. "Jack's in trouble with the police, and RPIT is so pissed at Anita right now that they're going to keep digging until they find out about me!"

"Richard, would you shut the hell up?" Anita asked. "I told you, Jack talked to the cops with his creepily efficient lawyer and they're not going to press charges against him, it's totally a case of self defense. And he keeps talking so much without mentioning you, and I really think Zerbrowski buys it."

"But why?" Jean-Claude asked.

"Why what?"

"Why is the boy keeping our Richard's name out of the story?" Jean-Claude slowly pushed himself off the bed. "What does he have to gain from this omission?"

For the first time all evening, Anita had no answer. "Maybe he's doing the right thing," Richard suggested.

The look that Jean-Claude gave him made him feel extremely stupid. "And how often in your life, Richard, have people done things that are truly altruistic?"

"It's possible!" Richard exclaimed, pushing off the wall and stalking over to the vampire.

"Oui, it is possible." Jean-Claude managed to fit condescension and mockery into four words, and Richard wanted to hit him.

Anita was suddenly there, pushing them apart. "Knock it off!" she demanded. "Whatever his reasoning, Jack's keeping his mouth shut, and we'll just have to deal with that." She gave Richard a little shove to get him farther away from Jean-Claude. "I think we dodged the bullet on this one."

"Perhaps."

Anita gave Jean-Claude an unfriendly stare. "Would you stop picking at this? Don't we have bigger problems?"

"Do we?" Jean-Claude affected surprise. "I thought the recent challenge to Richard's leadership was over, and the pack impressed with the finality of your solution. Rafael is not upset at the damage done to his wererats, and you have indicated, ma petite, that the police are once again thawing to you."

"Maybe," Anita said with a shrug. "Zerbrowski's still pissed about something."

"But the 'good guys' won, correct?" Jean-Claude asked. "Let us stop borrowing trouble and move forward."

"Maybe."

Richard sighed. "What do you mean, Anita?"

"I mean that there's something about Jack O'Neill that's bugging me."

"Like?"

"Like... you saw what he did in those woods. The trail back to the parking lot, the tripped bear traps, the chalk powder. You told me what he did to that werewolf in the woods," Anita argued. "I can understand the trail, but the rest? That's not the mark of a teenager who did some tracking with his father." She pushed her hair back with both hands.

"What bothers you about this situation, ma petite?" Jean-Claude asked quietly.

Anita paced across the room, thinking. Richard could almost see the wheels turning in her head. "He reminds me of Edward," she said finally. "Like, not a lot, but some. The way he killed the one wolf, and shot the other, that needs training. Scary training."

Worry churned in Richard's stomach. They still didn't know if Jack would change into a werewolf on the next full moon, and the thought of having someone so deadly in his pack, regardless of his power level, scared Richard. He didn't want to have to kill Jack O'Neill for the good of the pack.

"Where would such a young man learn such skills?" Jean-Claude asked, his eyes on Richard's face. The vampire's gaze made Richard feel naked, as if his whole being was exposed.

"I have no idea," Anita said. "But... Edward wouldn't have gone back to Sandra like Jack did. He'd have gone after Richard, or else bailed. And Edward wouldn't have let a tranquilized werewolf live. He'd have killed the man."

"Where does that leave us?" Jean-Claude asked.

"We wait," Richard said, crossing his arms over his chest. "We wait to see what the cops do, what happens with Jack."

Anita shook her head. "We can't just sit around!"

"You mean you can't sit around," Richard shot back. "Fine, go make this better, talk to the cops, do something."

"What are you going to do?"

"Go to class tomorrow? Hope to hell the cops don't subpoena Jack's phone records to see that he called me before he call you that night? What do you want me to do, Anita? Pray for a happy ending? Take everyone out for ice cream and suddenly it's all better?"

"Fine, be that fatalistic!" Anita shouted. "I'm trying to help you and all you do is push me away!"

"Where the hell did that come from?" Richard demanded. "I never pushed you away! I never said I didn't want your help!"

Anita stepped back. "Just-- I can't deal with this right now." She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

"What the hell is the matter with her?" Richard asked, not really expecting an answer from Jean-Claude.

The vampire straightened a painting on the wall, knocked askew by Anita's melodramatic exit. "She is more bothered by her estrangement from the police than she wishes to let on. It hurts her to be thought of as an impediment to justice, and she cannot tell the truth of the matter for fear of exposing you."

"So you're saying this is my fault?"

"Non." Jean-Claude turned to face Richard. "She needs to deal with this, and it is easier for her to fall back on familiar patterns than it is to deal with the issues at hand." He glanced at the door. "She needs time."

"And a valium," Richard muttered.

"As if you are any better in this situation."

"Hey, I--"

Jean-Claude held up a hand. "You are as worried as she, only on different matters. Have you see this young Mr. O'Neill since the event in the forest?"

"No," Richard said, hating the hint of sullenness in his tone. "I can't think of a reason to go to the hospital."

"Then all you can do is wait." Jean-Claude started towards the door. "I will attend to ma petite. Please, feel free to remain in my suite as long as you wish."

Richard was moving before the door even closed behind Jean-Claude. There was no way he was staying in Jean-Claude's bedroom, alone. Certainly not while Jean-Claude was tracking Anita down with 'comfort' on his mind.

Not even able to whip up the usual amount of jealousy at the mental image of Anita with Jean-Claude, Richard headed toward the exit of the underground lair. He needed to talk to Sylvie about the state of the pack and what they might do if Jack turned out to be a werewolf after all. He had responsibilities to take care of.

* * *

After class, Jack pushed his binder into his backpack, ignoring the stares of his classmates. It was only his first day back at school, the day after the full moon, and everyone kept watching him as if they expected him to grow a second head, or shift into a werewolf.

As if spending the night at the police station, 'just in case', wasn't enough punishment for one lifetime.

At least his back was feeling better. He'd have an annoying scar, but at least he wasn't a werewolf. At least Loki and Thor had left him with that much.

Slowly, Jack picked up his bag and drifted towards Zeeman's desk. The teacher looked up from his papers, looking about as nervous as Jack felt.

"Hey," Jack said in greeting. "Look, I need to get the assignments from those two weeks while I was gone."

"Of course." Richard picked up a packet of papers from the side of the desk. "I heard you were coming back today."

"Yeah, no time like the present." Jack shoved the papers into his bag, then stood there, uncertain. What now? He'd been lying to the cops about Zeeman being a werewolf for weeks, was he supposed to explain that? The teacher had to know what Jack had done; Anita Blake had been hovering around the police station constantly. "So."

"So." Richard leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "You missed the college fair last week. The military recruiters had a table set up."

"Whatever."

"I thought you were planning on signing up with the Air Force?" Zeeman said.

"Maybe." Jack slung his backpack strap over his shoulder. "I've had a lot of time to think, since... since."

"And?"

 _And maybe I'm tired of this, of dealing with the secrets and the danger and all that bullshit. The SGC seems to be saving the world just fine without me._ "Not sure if being all I can be is right for me."

"You do have some time to think about it," Zeeman agreed.

Jack shifted his bag higher on his shoulder. "Lucky me." Was this how it was going to be? Just never mentioning the subject of dead werewolves and lies to police and all that other bullshit? How fucking perfect.

"Anita wanted me to say hi, to you," Richard said suddenly. "She's glad you had a good night, last night."

"Yeah, no unexpected DNA shifts for me," Jack said. "Look, are we done the awkward talk? I have to go talk about my 'feelings'," he made air quotes around the word, "with the school counselor."

"Ouch."

"That's what I said." Jack took a step back. "So, yeah. See you tomorrow." He turned and was out the door before Zeeman could respond.

It had only been two weeks since he walked these halls, but it felt like an eternity. He wondered why he came back to it at all. True, it was part of the life he'd been trying to build on his own, but he could have walked away, taken his GED tomorrow, and enlist as soon as his pretend birthday ticked away to eighteen years old.

Maybe he was feeling responsible, but for what he wasn't sure. Sandra was fine, no one knew that Richard Zeeman was a werewolf. All was perfect with the world. Right?

Jack stopped at his locker, spinning the dial absently. Just as he knew that Richard Zeeman wasn't all that he appeared, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were not all as they appeared in St. Louis. He didn't know what he could do, he was just one guy.

But he wasn't planning on leaving town until he figured it out.

 _the end_


End file.
